


String Theory

by jad



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: (except when they do), (yet), Academy Era, Jim's actually a genius, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Pike's not dead, Pre-STXI, Technobabble, Vulcans Do Not Experience Jealousy, Wall Sex, canon-divergence, do i need a reason?, in academy uniforms, in case everyone had forgotten, loose interpretation of appropriate conduct aboard a starship, mutual shiny fixation, sweetheart challenge, theoretical physics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-13 12:07:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 34,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1225699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jad/pseuds/jad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spending time with James T. Kirk is very similar, Spock imagines, to entering the event horizon of a black hole: as a casual observer, you are unaware you have been caught in its gravitational pull until it is too late to do anything about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [museaway (museattack)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=museaway+%28museattack%29).



> Pre-STXI Academy era close-canon AU. Or, What If Kirk Met Spock Before The KM Hearing. As such, you'll occasionally see a line from STXI wiggle its way into the story. It's partly inspired by the _Hey, Sweetheart!_ K/S fest on LJ and by [this](http://awesomespockirk.tumblr.com/post/68962375850/nsfw) (NSFW) lovely image that showed up on my dashboard one day.
> 
> I'd like to thank my amazing team of betas and alpha readers (Atonau, Shan, Aki Hoshi, Juno, Mab and e) as well as the girls of the USS Enterprise chat for putting up with my perpetual whining as this thing turned into a monster. This is my first posted Trek fic, and also my first real attempt at writing Spock's POV.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Jim Kirk Experience; aka, how Spock is subject to astonishment, bemusement, contempt, irritation and dislike all in one afternoon. Pike swears he had nothing to do with it.

**2257.04**

Spock repeats the request slowly, still trying to comprehend the words. "The cadet intends to retake the test?"

"Yessir. When informed that it isn't routine, I'm told he spent over an hour citing Academy regulations in support of his case. Apparently the rubric doesn't strictly forbid retaking the exam."

"When did he originally run the simulation?"

"0800 this morning."

"This morning," Spock repeats, for lack of anything more insightful to say.

The lieutenant shifts her weight from one foot to the other. Spock recognizes it as a sign of discomfort. "He seems... determined for his petition to be granted, regardless of the protocol."

Spock considers refusing, but it may be easier to approve the request and be done with the issue. It is not as if retaking the test will produce an alternate result. Perhaps a second run will enlighten the cadet more efficiently regarding the true purpose of the program.

"Very well," Spock says, taking the PADD from the lieutenant and signing off his approval. "Schedule it. Monday afternoon is preferable. I wish to be present."

"Will that be all, sir?"

"Yes, thank you."

Taking the PADD back, the lieutenant salutes before turning to leave. Spock returns to his computer, but pauses as the door to his office slides open. "Lieutenant."

She pauses at the door, turning back to face him. "Yes, sir?"

"What is the cadet's name?"

She glances at her PADD. "Kirk," she says. "James T."

—~—

**2257.07**

Kirk, James T. appears precisely thirty seconds before the test is scheduled to begin.

While waiting, Spock has taken the time to review his peers. It is clear that Kirk has chosen his bridge crew with care; Cadet Uhura is at the communications post, and Spock knows from her performance in his advanced xenolinguistics course that she is unrivaled in her abilities. McCoy is already a Lieutenant, and while perhaps not the best choice for First Officer as a medical professional, Spock is aware that he is a close associate of Kirk's. The same can be said for the cadets; Boma, Kirk's chosen pilot, Gaila, slotted as his CEO, and Mitchell, seated at navigation. All are exceptional in their chosen fields, and — he is aware after reviewing Kirk's file over the weekend — individuals the cadet trusts.

From a Command perspective, it is an expertly crafted team. It is essential to be able to trust one's crew when out on an expedition, especially during combat situations. Combined with Kirk's aptitude tests on recruitment, the high scores he has accumulated during his first year and a half on the Command track, as well as a sound recommendation from Captain Pike, Spock expected to see a serious, skilled individual with real command potential.

Ten seconds after swaggering into the simulation, Kirk is sitting sideways in the bridge chair and winking at Cadet Uhura.

She makes a gesture with her right hand that Spock recognizes as rude, to which Kirk responds with a laugh. Spock is confused by her reaction. Kirk's appearance is, insofar as Spock will allow himself to judge, aesthetically pleasing; surely, such an advance would be received favorably? Then again, Uhura herself is quite attractive, and perhaps her preferences lie elsewhere. Spock puts it aside; perhaps it is a strange form of Terran courting beyond his knowledge. Either way, it is unimportant.

Kirk is older than his peers, but his exuberant and cocky demeanor is more consistent with the behavior of first-year cadets five years his junior. Spock wonders if this is some sort of testament to his lineage — George Kirk's accomplishment before his death is well known among Starfleet's ranks. It is possible that Cadet Kirk unwisely expects preferential treatment, but Spock dismisses the notion. Surely someone as accomplished as Kirk, however reprehensible he may appear, could not simultaneously be so unintelligent.

"We're ready, sir," an ensign informs him.

Spock allows the simulation to run without delay. He focuses on watching this new cadet — analyzing his decisions, his tone of voice, and where and when his attention is focused. His vitals, displayed on Spock's PADD, do not vary as the warbirds decloak and begin their attack. Whether it is because Kirk, having taken the test before, was anticipating them or because he is able to remain objective despite the stress, Spock is unable to determine.

So intent on his observations, Spock does not notice the other presence in the observation room until Captain Pike comes to stand beside him. "How's he doing?"

"It is too early in the simulation to determine," Spock replies, saluting. "I was unaware you would be present, Captain."

"At ease, soldier," Pike says, eyes sliding back to the simulation deck. "I wasn't aware I'd be here, either. But Kirk wasn't answering his commlink, and then I find out he managed to worm his way back in here. I can't believe you approved his petition."

"He was persistent."

Pike laughs, cuts it short by clearing his throat. "Yeah, that's one word for it."

Turning back to the simulation, Spock sees that Cadet Kirk is directing his engineer to bolster the forward shields — which have already fallen to a dangerous twenty-seven percent — by creating a direct bypass from the core's backup power. Cadet Gaila's eyes widen as she digests the command, spinning back around to her console to comply. It is an innovative yet dangerous move, with a chance of success in a real-world scenario only marginally better than a coin toss.

"Is he doing what I think he's doing?" Pike murmurs.

"It appears he is attempting to redirect the power from the dilithium core crystals to supplement their shields. A novel solution. If successful, the amount of static discharge could render the enemies' shields useless, and severely damage them."

"Clever."

"If successful," Spock repeats. The system alarms start blaring on cue as the computer simulates the order. It has determined the crystals would crack under such pressure, destroying the backup power and rendering the ship inert as the next attack breaks through the shields. "Otherwise, fatal."

"When I said that smartass was a good look on you," Pike says, at the same time Kirk yells " _Bullshit!_ " and kicks the bulkhead in frustration, "that wasn't an invitation to act like one more often."

Spock glances at Pike; his mouth is turned up at one end, and Spock understands that he is not actually being reprimanded. Their attention is drawn back to the simulation bridge as Kirk continues yelling obscenities at inanimate objects, Spock watching with some degree of worry for his mental health and Pike radiating a fond sort of amusement.

"He's going to try again, you know," Pike says, when the cadets finally start to funnel off the bridge. "He won't quit until he's figured a way around it."

"There is no alternate outcome," Spock says, confused. Pike is well aware of this fact. "Another attempt would be futile, and a waste of Academy resources."

"Say that to him that and see what happens. I didn't mean it literally," Pike says hastily, as Spock turns to depart and do just that. Pike walks with him, ignoring the questioning glance Spock gives him. "Let's just say that telling Kirk he _can't_ do something only ensures he'll figure out a way to prove you wrong."

Spock does not have much time to contemplate why Captain Pike would speak so highly of someone who clearly has a problem with authority. "Then what would you suggest?" he asks as he follows Pike out of the lift, towards the main hall.

Pike smiles briefly. "I've found it's usually easier to distract him."

Spock tilts his head, awaiting elaboration, but Pike ignores the gesture once more and leads him across the hall. Cadet Kirk has taken up residence on the floor beside Cadet Gaila, their PADDs placed together and displaying what appears to be the power supply system of a class G Constitution starship — the same type the simulation is based upon. They have shed their blue suits and are dressed back in their cadet reds, and are apparently oblivious to the fact that they are sitting in the middle of a very busy walkway with people having to step over them.

"No, you're right," he hears the young Orion say, skimming through the schematic. "I mean, it's still risky, but in theory it should have worked."

"I _told_ you it was bullshit," Kirk says, shaking his head.

"Well, you'd be the expert on that," Pike says, stopping beside him.

Gaila scrambles to her feet, saluting at once. Kirk looks up, but not directly at Pike; his eyes linger on Cadet Gaila's skirt before raising them up to scowl at his superior, face hidden in the shadow of his peer. "What've I done this time?"

Spock raises his eyebrows, but Pike does not reprimand Kirk, merely smirks and offers him a hand up. "That was an interesting move, kid," he says, as he pulls Kirk to his feet. "I've got it on good authority you're the first one to try it."

Either Kirk does not realize that Pike has just complimented him, or does not care. "Did your good authority happen to mention that _no one_ has passed the damn test? It's like they rigged the program to be unwinnable."

"Sir?" Gaila says, still holding her salute and looking uncomfortable.

"Dismissed, Cadet," Pike says, nodding at her before catching Kirk by the arm. "Not so fast, Kirk."

"Seriously, what did I do?"

"Nothing I want to know about." Kirk narrows his eyes; Pike sighs and rolls his own. "You're really in a mood, aren't you? C'mon, I'll buy you a belated-birthday drink."

Kirk still looks suspicious, but the offer of sustenance seems to win out over his trepidation. He glances at Spock, and Spock sees his eyes linger on his rank stripes. "Who's the stiff?"

Spock narrows his eyes. There is always a certain amount of disrespect to be expected from cadets, but it is rarely intentional and even then, fear of demerits usually overrides the youthful desire to challenge authority. Kirk either has none or is doing a superb job of suppressing it. It was clear during the simulation, as well — Spock considers that Kirk is not fearless, but rather a combination of insubordinate and foolish. It is a shame, considering his achievements, as a certain amount of fear is considered a healthy trait in any decent commanding officer. Without it, one is often prone to reckless behavior that endangers those around them.

There is also the possibility that Kirk, along with many Terrans, is somewhat xenophobic. It would not be the first time Spock has been exposed to prejudice because of his heritage.

"This is _Commander_ Spock," Pike says firmly. "Spock, Jim Kirk, resident pain in my ass." Pike steers Kirk ahead before Spock can formulate any sort of reply, and is left to simply keep step behind them. "So, Jim — what dive are you haunting this week?"

—~—

The bar is dimly lit and noisome, and, Spock suspects, likely violating several city health ordinances. It smells like a combination of stale alcohol and various unfavorable body odors, and the tabletop is sticky under his fingers. There are no other Starfleet personnel present, and the other occupants do not pay them any attention.

Pike has gone to procure potables, leaving Spock and the cadet alone in a booth at the back. Spock declined the offer for refreshments, since he gains no benefit from alcohol and does not trust this establishment to serve satisfactory water.

Kirk is resting his elbows on the tabletop, chin cradled casually on one hand. The orange fluorescent lamp overhead swings gently side to side, painting his tousled hair in varying shades of gold as he stares at Spock, his blue eyes bright like the twin nacelles on a starship. Spock reflects on the earlier interaction between Kirk and Cadet Uhura. He is still puzzled as to why Uhura would respond unfavorably; under close scrutiny, even Spock has to admit that, for a Terran, Kirk is attractive to a degree that a wide variety of species would acknowledge —

"So you're the infamous hybrid," Kirk says, as soon as Pike's out of earshot.

— though his attitude leaves a lot to be desired.

"I am half human," Spock confirms, unsure why Kirk thinks it is appropriate to mention something so personal to a being he does not know beyond a professional capacity. His genetic makeup has nothing to do with his accomplishments as a Starfleet officer, and is certainly no one's business but his own.

"Could've fooled me," Kirk says, tilting his head, as if examining Spock for evidence of his human genes. "Raised on Vulcan, yeah?"

"I do not see how that — "

"Did Pike talk you into enlisting, too? Or was that your own bright idea?"

Spock wonders if Kirk realizes he just interrupted a superior officer; if he does, he does not seem to care. Still, he cannot see any harm in answering Kirk's query. "The decision to join Starfleet was made of my own volition."

"Don't see too many Vulcans in the ranks. They usually enroll in the VSA. So, if not Pike, what was it? Not good enough for them?"

Spock clamps down on the flare of anger at the statement, shoves it aside. "I was offered a position with the Science Academy. I declined."

This answer seems to intrigue Kirk, who sits back and smirks. "Wow. How'd that go?"

The anger shoves back. "About as well as your last attempt at the _Kobayashi Maru_."

Kirk's eyes narrow, and Spock feels a deeply vicious satisfaction at the response and is simultaneously disappointed at his own lack of control; he decides he will have to meditate later.

"Unless you happened to pass yours," Kirk says, "you know as well as I do that the test is complete crap."

Of course, Kirk does not know that Spock is responsible for the program's design. Spock decides that at this juncture, it would be unwise to reveal this information. "So you have stated. You may want to consider that, rather than the test being at fault, your understanding of its purpose may be incorrect."

"How d'you figure?" Kirk does not pause to let Spock reply. "You were up there with Pike, weren't you? You knew what I was trying to do."

Spock nods. "You were attempting to exploit the enemy's superior weaponry. In a real world scenario, the chance of success would have been approximately fifty-one point three percent, depending on the current state of the dilithium crystals. Assuming the ship is in good repair, you may have temporarily bolstered the forward shields to the point of instability, causing the next attack to backfire a charge of static radiation that would have rendered the attacking warbirds temporarily inert."

"Exactly!"

"With the same risks to your own ship and your crew, had the bypass failed," Spock finishes. "Most captains would not risk the stress to the crystals for fear of fracturing them."

Kirk snorts. "Most captains wouldn't have even _thought_ of it."

"I agree," Spock says, and Kirk looks surprised at the admission. "It was an ingenious plan, however unorthodox," Spock pauses, as Kirk's eyebrows are in danger of merging with his hairline, "but ultimately unsuccessful."

The jibe, however juvenile, is worth it just to see Kirk roll his eyes in exasperation. "The computer's just playing it safe, and you know it. Those crystals can take a lot more strain than the simulation gives them credit for."

"Perhaps, but the fact remains there are too many variables to accurately predict the outcome in a real-world scenario. Even if the maneuver played out as you planned, your overall chance of success was uncertain, at best."

"I'll take uncertain success over certain death anyday."

"But it is not only yourself making the gamble; your crew is susceptible to the result as well."

"If they're dead either way, what the fuck does it matter? At least I didn't just bend over and let it happen."

Spock frowns at the profanity, but manages to let it go. "I believe you're missing the point of the simulation, Cadet."

"And what point would that be?"

"In the face of certain failure — "

"But it's _not_ certain!" Kirk snaps, interrupting once again. "That's my point! None of it's certain, I don't care how many computers you have telling you otherwise. There's always _something_ you can do."

"Your argument precludes the possibility of a no-win scenario."

The look Kirk gives him is nothing short of contemptuous. "I don't believe in no-win scenarios."

For the second time in four days, Spock finds himself experiencing astonishment. "Your aptitude scores suggest you are not unintelligent," he says, ignoring how Kirk's eyes narrow further, the shadow of his brow seeming to make his eyes brighter, "and therefore I find it peculiar that you would hold such a belief."

"And your argument precludes the possibility that not everyone is willing to roll over the moment the odds aren't in their favor."

"Retaining command of one's crew during a deadly crisis is a mandatory quality for any Starfleet member that seeks a position of authority."

Kirk rolls his eyes again. "Go figure Starfleet thinks that _giving up_ is a desirable quality in a captain."

"It is not considered capitulant to concede one's defeat and continue to conduct one's crew with integrity and — "

"You can't retain command or integrity when you're _dead_ ," Kirk snaps.

"Without the ability to recognize when one is in error, you cannot hope to be an effective commander."

"In _error?_ " Kirk laughs; it is a short, unpleasant sound. "How am I 'in error' for refusing to lie down and expose my throat? For trying _every alternative_ I can think of before writing the op — and our _lives_ — off as a lost cause?"

"Your error lies in the optimistic assumption that every scenario has a favorable outcome."

"Favorable meaning we might live through it? Damn straight!"

Spock feels as if this discussion is running, quite literally, in circles. He is perplexed at how vehemently this cadet is defending his actions; Spock feels there is nothing he could say to convince him otherwise. This is not something that he has experienced before today. "I have come to the conclusion that you must be alarmingly conceited as to believe you alone have the power of life or death in any given situation."

Kirk is staring at him in what Spock thinks may be disbelief; that, or intense dislike. "God," he says finally, letting out a heavy breath, "arguing with you is like trying to argue with a computer. Only the computer would be less pretentious. Are you sure you're half human?"

"Quite," Spock says tightly, very much aware of the irritation in his voice. Kirk smirks again, as if he has accomplished something. "I think you simply refuse to acknowledge the fault in your logic."

"And I think you just don't like the idea that you might be losing this round, Yoda."

Spock barely succeeds in keeping his voice from rising. "You will address me as _sir_ or 'Commander Spock', _Cadet_."

"Jesus Christ, I leave the two of you alone for five minutes," Pike says, sounding as if he is in pain. Kirk's open mouth shuts quickly when he realizes Pike is standing over them. "Spock, we're not here in an official capacity, so relax. And you," he adds, when Kirk smirks, "stop being such an asshole."

"Last time I checked, the ability to pull rank doesn't mean you can't be wrong."

"James, drink your beer." Kirk glares, but relents, and accepts the glass Pike slides across the table to him, downing half of it in one swallow. "I didn't drag you two out here to argue semantics."

Spock is curious himself as to why Captain Pike has insisted on this meeting, if one could call it that. As if sensing the question, Pike pulls out his personal PADD and brings up a file before handing it over to Spock, who takes it and scans it quickly. It shows Kirk's intended curriculum over the summer, mostly courses on his secondary focus — starship design. Curious; it is a specialty generally selected by engineers, not those on the Command track. The course load is heavy, clearly — and expertly — arranged to fast-track an individual through the necessary requirements. There is an added notation on the block from Pike, and after Spock reads it he turns his gaze to the captain, confused. "Sir?"

"What?" Kirk asks, eyes flickering between them.

"I've been asked to take over for Captain Garrovick for a few months while she's on maternity leave," Pike explains. "The _USS Hawking_ is scheduled to do a supply run for a few sectors of Beta quadrant over the summer. Mostly starbases, a few mining colonies. Pretty standard stuff."

"Oh, great," Kirk says, letting his forehead hit the table. Spock calculates that there is an eighty-three point eight percent chance the cadet's face has now become host to a small colony of bacteria. "Every time you ship out, Number One gets all — "

"As much as she loves traumatizing you, she's spending the year on Denova trying to streamline the colonization," Pike interrupts. "Says your brother's more trouble than you, though I still stand by my opinion that that's a physical impossibility."

"No wonder you've been such a grouch lately."

"And Spock here," Pike continues, pointedly ignoring the remark, "has agreed to serve as my First Officer on the voyage."

"I don't suppose you'll have gotten around to the point by the time I've refilled my beer?" Kirk asks, starting to stand.

"In light of the situation," Pike continues over him, "I've been given an allowance to choose a dozen promising cadets to serve as yeoman onboard, and I'd like you to shadow Commander Spock over the summer."

Kirk sits back down and blurts out " _What_?" the exact moment Spock, in a moment of weakness, asks: "Captain?"

Pike smirks, as if expecting Kirk's indignation and Spock's surprise. "It's a good offer, Jim. Most of your peers are third and fourth year cadets. I had to pull a lot of strings to get approval for you."

Kirk is staring at the empty glass in his hands. Spock glances at Pike, who is sipping at his own beverage and allowing the silence to lengthen. He has only been working with the captain for a little under a year, and while Pike has earned his respect as an exceptionally intelligent and talented commander, there are times — moments like this — where Spock is tempted to induce a mind meld to decipher just what exactly he is thinking.

"Captain," Spock says, "surely there are more qualified cadets — "

"Spock, you know how much I value your opinion," Pike interrupts. Spock nods; his opinions are quite valuable. "Good. Tonight I'm exercising my right as your senior officer to ignore them." He turns back to Kirk and continues: "Jim, I know you're hellbent on keeping your three-year deal, but this'll count towards all the core requirements you've been putting off, and you can continue to work on your secondary onboard, then finish it up next summer. You'll still be on track, and have experience serving under — "

"Look," Kirk says, holding up a hand. Pike looks rightfully displeased at the interruption, but waits. Kirk glances at Spock briefly before turning his gaze back to Pike. "It's not that I don't appreciate it." Pike snorts, and Kirk rolls his eyes. "Shut up. I do. I just — _him?_ "

Spock blinks. He does not know Kirk personally and hadn't even met the cadet until this afternoon. While it is clear they have wildly different opinions on the matter of command, Kirk is clearly overreacting. Spock concludes that he was correct in assuming Kirk suffers from xenophobia. It is the only logical reason he would refuse such an opportunity; Spock knows, without consulting Pike, that the other cadets will be serving as yeoman to low-ranking officers in their chosen fields. To turn down the chance to shadow a First Officer, whatever or whomever they may be, indicates that Kirk's own dislike of non-Terrans needs further evaluation. Operating as a Starfleet official requires a certain amount of tolerance, and as Vulcan serves as one of main partners of the Federation's leadership, he may not even be fit for duty.

"McCoy's coming, too," Pike says. His tone of voice is nonchalant, but even Spock can detect the slight change in atmosphere as he says the words. "Whether he likes it or not," he adds, when Kirk looks up at him in surprise. "God knows the CMO'll have him covering Gamma shifts the entire trip, but it'll be good for him to spend some time in the black before going on an extended mission."

Kirk closes his eyes and lets out a short laugh. "You've got this all figured out, don't you?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Pike says, idling inspecting his nails. Spock gets the distinct impression that he is not privy to a rather subtle exchange between the two men. "So, I'll be expecting your application within the week, then. The _Hawking_ sets out on May 19th, so make any arrangements you have to before then."

Kirk looks at Pike for a long moment before nodding. "Right. Is that all, then?"

Pike sits back and shrugs. "For now. You're dismissed."

Without so much as a departing salute, Kirk slips out of the booth — but instead of leaving, he sidles up to the bar between two figures (one Terran, female; one Andorian, male). The former is wearing what appears to be the minimum clothing required to avoid an indecent exposure citation. It takes exactly seventeen seconds before the woman responds to his advances, one hand casually resting on his forearm while she throws her head back and laughs.

"So," Pike begins, nursing his beer, "what do you think?"

"I think he is quite brilliant," Spock answers immediately. Pike raises his eyebrows. "And most aggravating."

Pike chuckles, takes a long swallow. "That's possibly the most accurate description I've heard."

Spock frowns as Kirk slides an arm around the female at the bar. "I further suspect he is dangerously xenophobic."

Pike chokes on his beverage, and Spock turns to him in alarm. " _Jim?_ " he rasps out, coughing.

This is not the response Spock is expecting. "After analyzing our interaction and his clear distaste of serving as my yeoman, I can only surmise — "

"Spock, I'm sorry," Pike says, holding up a hand to halt him, "but Jim is the last person in the universe — in its _entirety_ — that you could accuse of being xenophobic."

Spock furrows his brow and re-evaluates Kirk's behavior, trying to find the fault in his logic. Before he can speculate, however, Pike points to the bar. Spock looks up just in time to see Kirk walking towards the exit with not just the human at his side, but the Andorian as well.

"I'm pretty sure if they did a survey on who's slept their way through the most sentient species known to the Federation, Jim Kirk would be at the top of that list. Not that it's anything to brag about," Pike adds quickly, "but xenophobic he most certainly is _not_."

—~—

**2257.140**

Spock does not see Cadet Kirk again until the morning of the _USS Hawking_ 's departure.

Technically that is incorrect, he decides. He does _see_ Kirk from time to time on campus (usually haunting the door outside Advanced Xenolinguistics to pester Cadet Uhura, which she complains about _at length_ ), but he does not engage him. Kirk seems mutually pleased with the arrangement and likewise does not acknowledge Spock's presence in any way when their paths happen to cross.

Kirk shows up at the shuttle bay laughing, eyes bright and shoulder casually knocking against Lieutenant McCoy, who is attempting to hide his own smile behind a scowl. It seems to be a regular expression for the man. Kirk is boasting several minor injuries to his face — a fading hematoma along his right cheekbone and a jagged laceration over his brow. Their presence is surprising. If sustained during combat training, they would be seen to by the medic on site; if not, surely his close relationship with the doctor would have led to their removal.

Cadets Uhura and Gaila are with them, the latter flirting indiscriminately with both men. Spock is waiting at the shuttle doorway, marking crew members off his PADD as they arrive. Uhura continues towards the shuttle as the other three halt just within Spock's earshot, Gaila embracing them both. Spock notices the one she gives Kirk lingers approximately six seconds longer.

"I'm gonna miss you," he hears her say.

Kirk looks surprised, and a little pleased. "Really?"

"Of course." She cups his face with her palm as she leans in to add: "You're my favorite."

Favorite what, she does not specify. Kirk seems to understand, however, and doesn't even glance around to see if they are being watched before leaning in to kiss her. "Well," he says, pulling away, "my comm's always open if you get lonely."

"As if," Gaila returns, but she is smiling. She turns to the doctor. "Don't let him get you into too much trouble, Leonard."

"According to the pool, he'll be spending too much time in the brig to manage that."

Kirk looks intrigued. "What're my odds?"

"Ten-to-one that Spock maroons you on an asteroid within the week."

Kirk smiles brilliantly; his eyes find the shuttle, and Spock, who is still watching the exchange, and it morphs into a smirk. "I think that's being a bit generous."

"And to think, I was so excited when you offered me this post," Uhura murmurs as she comes up beside Spock, looking back at the group. "If you've put me in the same room as him, just forget you showed me how to do that fancy nerve-pinch."

She continues onto the shuttle without waiting for a reply. It takes considerable effort for Spock to withhold the small smile her comment induces and return his attention to the roster; several of the older recruits are reporting for duty. By the time he has checked them in, Cadet Gaila is gone and the two men are approaching.

"Commander," McCoy says in passing. Kirk glances at Spock and his smile falters, as if he realizes that Spock has, in fact, overhead their earlier conversation. He raises a lazy salute before following McCoy onboard.

The cadets report to their various quarters once onboard — except for Kirk, who has not brought any belongings to stow. He follows Spock towards the turbolift to the bridge silently. Spock ignores his presence.

The moment the doors open to reveal the bridge, they are assaulted by the formidable voice of Captain Garrovick in mid-sentence: " — retrofit it to the warp drive and they still haven't gotten around to replacing it. Because you know it's more important to build _new_ ships than keep the ones we already have in order. So don't push her above warp six unless your ass is on fire, because — "

"If I break her I buy her?" Pike finishes for her. He looks up when Spock and his shadow enters, and rolls his eyes. He looks, Spock thinks, more exhausted than he had the night before, when they were going over the last-minute course adjustments.

"No, because as soon as my leave is up I'll have photon torpedos at my disposal and I know where you live." Garrovick is in civilian wear, and has a sash tied diagonally across her torso, containing a large bulge — Spock can only assume it is her newborn child. This does not seem to impede her in any way; she is determinedly following Pike across the bridge, haunting his steps. "And keep Jose out of Engineering or Sen'cha'll be comming you in the middle of Gamma shift, because he's figured out how to hack the climate controls in the arboretum and — "

"Didn't you give birth like, three hours ago?" Pike says in exasperation, turning around to face her. Garrovick pulls up short and opens her mouth to no doubt correct him (Spock knows for a fact that she had delivered the child, a female, four days ago), but Pike takes her by the shoulders. "I'll be gentle with her, Laura. I promise. Go home, and for God's sake, get some _sleep_."

As if in agreement, the child at her chest begins to wail. Garrovick sighs. " _One_ scratch, Christopher — "

"And Number One finally gets the title to my car," Pike agrees. "You take care of _that_ baby, and let me look after this one."

Pike collapses in the captain's chair the moment Garrovick (reluctantly) departs the bridge. He cracks open an eye when Spock reports that all cadets are checked in and onboard, and that all system checks are underway. Pike nods absently. "Good. Thank you, Mr Spock." His eyes find Kirk, standing just behind Spock's side. "Fifty credits says she's breastfeeding that kid down in Engineering, ordering daily updates."

That earns a few laughs from the bridge crew and a smirk from Kirk. "Lady has her priorities straight."

"You think she's bad, wait until I get _mine_ ," Pike says, with a wistful look on his face. "You know they're outfitting their nacelles with the new intertial actuators?" Kirk lets out a low whistle in appreciation. "Warp eight is going to be a _breeze_." He redirects his gaze to Kirk and raises an eyebrow. "Nice shiner."

Kirk grins. "Should see the other guy."

"Don't you have a live-in doctor at your disposal?"

"I think you'd agree, sir," McCoy says loudly, stepping onto the bridge, "that if I patched him up every time he started a fight he couldn't finish, he'd never learn his lesson." A few of the bridge crew snicker at the remark. "And speaking of blood-letting, if you plan to get off this rock anytime soon, you might want to send Security down to med bay to escort Garrovick off the ship before Laguardia performs a reverse cesarean."

Spock does not have time to point out the illogical nature of that statement before the bridge is flooded with laughter again. "All right," Pike says, standing. "McCoy, with me; Miss Berrett, I want her ready for warp by the time I get back, assuming I haven't been killed in action." He turns to Spock. "Mr Spock, see they get those system checks done sometime this morning — and Kirk," he pauses, lowering his voice, "I'm only going to say this once: the crew is _off limits_. Are we clear?"

Spock is not sure what Pike is forbidding, but Kirk apparently derives meaning from his statement and salutes as Pike joins McCoy in the turbolift. "Crystal, sir."

As the doors are closing, Pike points at Spock. "That includes him!"

Kirk glances at him and sighs. "This is going to be long summer."

Spock cannot help but agree.

—~—

**2257.148**

The first week into their voyage is quiet. Spock does not expect anything different; their mission is the epitome of a basic exercise. It will take twelve days to reach their first stop at warp four, and there is little to occupy the crew's time outside of standard operating procedures. That is not to say Spock is idle; he is unfamiliar with this crew, and while this is not his first time serving as an officer aboard a starship, it is the first time serving as the First Officer. With the promotion comes many new responsibilities, not least of which is ensuring that the the entire crew is functioning at maximum capacity. It is a tedious task, but important nonetheless.

Cadet Kirk's duty onboard is to observe and assist when necessary, but as Spock does not require aid in his responsibilities, he is left to concentrate on the former. Still, he assigns the cadet some menial tasks to test his abilities, which Kirk performs without question. Spock was surprised (but pleased) to discover Kirk manages to spend their time together in relative silence.

When Spock is off-duty, he splits his time between the lab and his own quarters; he assumes Kirk spends his time working on his dissertation and resting. After all, Kirk is human — his biology requires six to eight standard hours of sleep per day to function with efficiency.

It is not until the eighth day that Spock reconsiders that he may have been optimistic in his assumptions.

He receives four separate complaints from officers that their respective cadets seem to be struggling to complete their duties. Upon investigation, the culprit seems to be a lack of proper rest. Since the cadets are surplus crew, they are split into two groups of six to share quarters — not ideal, perhaps, but a small sacrifice in light of the opportunity they have been given.

It should not surprise Spock to discover that the four cadets in question happen to share quarters with James Kirk.

"He's insane. _Insane_! He doesn't _sleep!_ I swear I'm — Commander!" The young cadet stops short coming out of the doorway, and immediately assumes a salute. It is the middle of Beta shift, so Spock understands her surprise at seeing the First Officer outside their quarters. Behind her, the two other occupants follow suit, though one with markedly less effort.

"Cadet," Spock acknowledges, nodding; she lowers the salute, and shifts her weight. "Carry on."

Given leave, the woman flees; after a moment of hesitation, one of her peers follows, slipping quickly past Spock as he enters the room. McCoy remains, reclining on his bunk and stifling a yawn. "You'll pardon me if I don't get up, Commander," he says. "It's about four in the morning for me."

"You may remain at ease," Spock acquiesces. "It would seem that you have acclimated to Gamma shift very quickly."

"Unfortunately," McCoy murmurs. "If you're looking for Jim, you just missed him. Went to go crawling around Engineering."

Spock almost points out that Kirk does not have clearance to do such a thing, but it would be a moot gesture at this point. That, and his attention is quickly called to the far wall — generally, crew members use the allotted space to display reminders of home. It is encouraged; for many sentient species, long voyages in space often result in a wide variety of adjustment disorders. Having familiar relics seems to lessen the effects, especially with untried crew.

But instead of displaying holos or artifacts, the minimal furniture has been shoved rather haphazardly into a corner. On the bulkhead itself is what appears to be a very large, highly detailed schematic for a starship drawn in an acrylic-based marker of some kind.

"Come to admire his artwork?"

Spock tilts his head, following the lines of the ship's nacelles. The space outside of the ship itself is filled with equations and notes, all of them highly advanced and following no linear order Spock can identify at first glance. "If by 'artwork' you are referring to his defacement of Starfleet property."

"If you think that's bad, you should see our dorm." Spock turns his head to look at McCoy, but the doctor's eyes are closed. "Parts of it have started to extend onto the ceiling."

"I do not suppose you can explain why Kirk feels it is necessary to inscribe his notes onto the walls rather than simply program them into his personal datapad."

"'Too damn small'," McCoy replies, eyes still closed. "His words. Apparently it's impossible to properly build a starship the size of the Titanic on an eight by ten screen."

Spock turns his attention back to the wall; while he cannot condone the graffiti, he does understand the reasoning. He takes out his PADD and thoroughly scans the schematic before turning back to the doctor. "Send Cadet Kirk to my quarters when he returns."

McCoy performs a disheveled salute without even bothering to open his eyes.

—~—

It is nearly Gamma shift when the door to Spock's quarters chimes. He powers down the vidscreen before calling, "Enter."

Kirk takes one step into the doorway and stands at attention. "You wanted to see me, Commander?"

Spock motions for Kirk to take a seat; Kirk merely moves a few steps further into the room, standing beside the desk while simultaneously maintaining a clear path to the door. Spock wonders if he is conscious of this, or if it is instinctual. He is clearly suspicious, so Spock does not press the issue. "I apologize if I am keeping you from rest."

Kirk shrugs. "I don't need a lot of sleep."

This turn of phrase Spock has heard before, and has always found it is incorrect. Sleep is a necessity determined by one's specific biological makeup. The amount of sleep one requires is not a matter of choice, or habit.

Clearly uncomfortable with the silence, Kirk shifts his weight but does not break eye contact. "Have I done something wrong?"

Spock considers the question. Kirk has performed every task assigned to him thoroughly and with apparent ease — namely, duties that, if executed poorly, would have no impact on the function of the crew. Whether it be composing crew schedules (which Spock checks himself before approving), monitoring subspace frequencies on the bridge, or taking detailed notes on officer meetings, Spock has yet had to correct him. He has made suggestions, but Kirk has surprised him in not questioning the advice — merely taking it in stride, and adjusting his work accordingly.

Based on their first interaction, Spock had expected this assignment to be somewhat of a nuisance, but whatever dislike Kirk had with him has not impeded their working relationship. If Spock did not know better, he would suspect Captain Pike had spoken with him prior to the voyage.

"Your fellow cadets have been suffering from what can only be acute exhaustion," Spock says, and notices how Kirk's eyes finally stray, focusing on the wall. "Upon inquiry, it seems that your habit of working through the night is disturbing their rest."

When Kirk doesn't reply to confirm nor deny this assumption, Spock continues: "I am aware that, as a cadet, you do not have free rein to use the labs without supervision. While I cannot expect another member of the crew to oversee your conduct while we are not on duty, if you are adamant about continuing your studies throughout the evening, I am perfectly willing to allow you access to my office."

Kirk's eyes snap back to him. "I beg your pardon?"

Spock does not think his offer was ambiguous. He attempts to clarify. "Rather than defacing the walls of your shared quarters and simultaneously disturbing your crewmates, I am willing to allow you to work here. I do not require as much rest as a human, so it will not disturb me."

Kirk is still staring at him. "You want me to draw on _your_ walls?"

"On the contrary," Spock says, before telling the ship's computer to power up the vidscreen. It is a relatively new installment, a small device capable of a square meter 3D holo display; Spock was pleasantly surprised to see Captain Garrovick had them installed in the officer quarters. Spock selects the most recent project; his scan of Kirk's schematic, fed into the computer and fully rendered, materializes above the desk. The plans were painstakingly detailed, so the vessel floats in midair, comprising thin, neon-blue lines. It is an impressive ship, if incomplete, and vaguely reminiscent of the new N-class models under construction back at Earth. "I prefer my walls as they are. You may use my computer."

If Kirk does not resume blinking, Spock fears his eyes may begin to dry out. He steps towards the display, eyes roaming over the 3D blueprint, clearly recognizing his work. Spock steps aside, and allows him to look it over.

After a pregnant pause, Kirk blinks and glances at him. "This isn't some weird, Vulcan way of coming on to me, is it?"

It is Spock's turn to blink. "I am afraid I do not understand the question."

Kirk bites his bottom lip. "Probably for the best," he says, running his fingers along the outline of nacelles, which Spock notices are precisely the same color as his eyes, "because it's working."

—~—


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These are the voyages of the starship _Hawking_. Its three-month mission: to explore strange new ways to cheat the universe, to seek out new disagreements and co-conspirators, to boldly indulge where no Vulcan has indulged before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks again to atonau and Shan for the super-quick and thorough beta, and kisses to the Enterprise crew for their continued support and relentless cheerleading!

**2257.151**

By the time the _Hawking_ reaches its first destination, Spock has made several notable observations about Cadet Kirk.

The first is that he works well into the night. Through half of Gamma shift, the soft, blue glow from the holodesk is still visible underneath the partition that separates the bed from his office. If Kirk sleeps, he does so after Spock has retired for the night. The cadet returns to report for duty on time the following morning, although not necessarily rested. There are well-defined shadows beneath Kirk's eyes, and he consumes roughly three times the amount of synthesized coffee as compared to any other member of the crew.

Spock also comes to the realization that whatever aversion Kirk had to him seems to have dissipated. He is tolerable company, although uncharacteristically quiet when they are alone. The cadet is outspoken and sociable when on duty, and yet speaks only when spoken to in the solitude of Spock's quarters. Spock is surprised to realize that he has grown so used the daytime clamor that he finds the evening quiet unsettling.

The next observation Spock makes is accidental. They are scheduled to arrive at Gersemi Prime in nine standard hours, shortly after the beginning of Alpha shift. He is finishing his inventory of the supplies to be transported down to the colony while Kirk is inserting figures into the computer. He sits on the edge of the table, one foot on the floor and one knee casually slung over the corner, inputting with one hand and moving ship components around with the other.

His movements are coordinated enough that Spock considers he may very well be ambidextrous. But that is not what Spock finds fascinating; Kirk is not using his PADD to input the raw data. He is doing the complex calculations in his head, while simultaneously adjusting the elements of the ship to compensate.

"Am I humming, or something?"

Kirk looks up as he speaks, and Spock becomes aware that he has been staring. "No," he says, glancing at the PADD in his hands; he is displeased to realize that his own progress has suffered due to distraction. "I simply noticed that you have recalibrated the gravimetric dampeners eleven times in succession."

"Yeah, well," Kirk says, glaring at his project, "they're not cooperating."

In the time it takes Spock to decipher the odd expression, Kirk has recalibrated the dampeners once again and is frowning at the readout. The components in question are highlighted in red; the computer still refuses to accept the adjustment. Since Kirk has made no progress on his task in the past twenty-six minutes, Spock abandons the PADD and stands to scan the data, moving to his side. He expects to find whatever fault Kirk has encountered and correct it, so Kirk can continue his work and Spock can return to his own.

"There is an error in your calculation," Spock finds, pointing to a specific part in the equation. "For a ship this of this mass, the amount of power required — "

"My calculation is fine," Kirk interrupts, and brings up the broad specs of the ship. "See?"

Spock blinks. "How were you able to achieve that level of output?"

Kirk grins. "Monocrystalline dilithium. And before you even say it, I know everyone's still hemming and hawing about its stability, but that's only because they think the mining colonies will take a big hit from it. Which is stupid, because we still need plenty of other raw materials and to switch to epitaxy — I mean, the difference in time it takes to harvest and refine versus create them in a lab _alone_? And the huge chunk of the budget we can redirect towards more important shit, like upgrading the research labs or QOL programs. Not to mention we won't have to worry about imperfections, and the artificial crystals will be able to withstand a lot more use before replacing."

It is not the first time Spock has been impressed with Kirk's ingenuity, and he doubts it will be the last. However, after reviewing the data with this information, Spock identifies the issue. "You have forgotten to recalibrate the fusion reactors," he informs Kirk. "You are correct that artificial dilithium would be purer, and therefore generate a higher output. But if you do not adjust the reactors to compensate — "

"It'll overload the impulse system," Kirk finishes, slapping his forehead with his palm. "And probably explode. God dammit." He pulls up the reactor readout and makes the necessary adjustments; the red-lined dampeners turn blue as the computer accepts the calculations. "I've usually got an engineer over my shoulder, ensuring I don't make an idiot out of myself." He pauses, mouth making a strange shape beneath flushed cheeks. "Thanks."

"You are welcome," Spock says, bewildered. The issue is an easy one to overlook, and not something Spock would consider idiotic. He speculates that whatever standard Pike holds the cadet to is somewhat lesser than the one Kirk has set for himself. "If you would like assistance, I would be happy to review your designs for additional flaws, once we have departed the Gersemi system."

Kirk pauses in rotating the hologram. "Happy, huh? Isn't that illegal where you come from?"

Spock feels the corners of his eyes constrict of their own accord, and simultaneously suffers a momentary lapse at controlling the muscles around his mouth. "I was simply attempting to use your vernacular to convey an idea."

Kirk raises his eyebrows. "Okay, that," he says, pointing at Spock's face, "was just creepy."

—~—

**2257.173**

They successfully complete four of their thirteen scheduled stops without delays or complications. Now underway on their fifth resupply at Starbase 12, Captain Pike grants the crew permission to explore while the shipments are transferred, provided they are off-duty. The promise of non-replicated food and the chance to socialize is well-received. Spock expects Kirk to take advantage of the offer, and is surprised when the cadet follows him to his quarters after Alpha shift.

Perhaps Kirk is under the impression that, since Spock has elected to remain onboard, he must as well. "You are free to go with them," Spock informs him.

Kirk glances at him. "Trying to get rid of me?"

"It will be the last opportunity to disembark the ship for several weeks."

"I'm aware of that," Kirk says. "But it's not what I asked."

The informal nature of their conversation still surprises him, but Kirk maintains formality while on duty, so Spock does not mention it. "Your presence does not disturb me."

"Glad to hear it," Kirk says, powering up the vidscreen. "Besides, I'm nearly done with this damn thing."

Near completion, the ship he has designed takes up the entire display. Spock has kept his promise of reviewing the work, pointing out adjustments and giving advice, and Kirk has seemed content to receive the critique. Spock has enjoyed the discourse; while starship engineering is not his speciality, the basic mechanics and general mathematics required for the overall design are intellectually stimulating, as are Kirk's creative — if unorthodox — ideas.

He seems thoroughly obsessed with efficiency, and the result is a ship that is lighter and more energy efficient than anything currently deployed in the fleet. Spock has expressed to Captain Pike that Starfleet would benefit more if Kirk were to switch to the Engineering track, but Pike dismissed the notion. He is adamant that Kirk's command potential exceeds that of his technical ingenuity, though Spock has not yet had opportunity to witness it. Spock agreed that Kirk would make a competent officer, and may eventually be promoted to captain. However, he did not see how this would be more beneficial than putting his talents to use designing vessels for the Federation.

"Trust me," Pike said, and had left it at that.

The disk of the vessel takes up the entire bow, while the core, shuttle bay and engineering section sit separately in the lower stern. The nacelles are positioned above, completing an overall Y-shape. When he asks how Kirk decided on the design, Kirk's reasoning is surprisingly logical.

"It's safest; the most dangerous parts of the ship are the core and the bussard collectors at the fore of the nacelles, right? Well," Kirk zooms out and highlights the points, "this way, any accidents should result in the least loss of life. Aside from anyone in engineering that happens to be in proximity, the majority of the crew'll be concentrated elsewhere."

He does not need to mention that, during a hostile encounter, these areas are also more likely to be targeted by an enemy to cripple the vessel.

It has not escaped Spock's notice that the overall architecture of the vessel is familiar. It is not a popular design, due to the long travel between departments, and therefore not often utilized despite higher safety standards. Kirk is still making notes on his PADD when Spock approaches the desk. "I wish to show you something."

Kirk looks up as Spock pulls up another file. He has only recently gained access to the plans associated with Captain Pike's upcoming assignment. The outer hull of the vessel is complete, so the computer renders it as it appears back at Earthdock: thousands of meters of sleek, flawless duranium and tritanium, glittering under the lights of the space station.

Kirk drops the PADD on the desk without looking away. "Is that her?"

"It is," Spock confirms, rotating the display so the designation _NCC-1701_ is visible. "It bears a remarkable resemblance to your own design."

"I saw her, back in Iowa," Kirk admits, eyes never leaving the ship. He shifts his weight as he leans against the desk. The movement brings his shoulder in contact with Spock's; it is the first time they have had physical contact, and Spock is surprised to find he has no desire to pull away. All he gains from the touch is a brief flash of veneration, and a deep sense of longing. "The day I jumped on the shuttle," Kirk explains, oblivious. "They were still working on the outer hull. Damn," he continues, zooming in on the nacelles, "she's gorgeous."

Spock is inclined to agree; as far as one can apply aesthetics to an inanimate object, the ship is magnificent. "Captain Pike is pleased with the assignment."

"Yeah, well, he'd better take good care of her," Kirk says, "'cause I'm gonna marry that girl someday."

—~—

**2257.176**

When Spock emerges from his sleeping quarters at 0430 ship time, Kirk is still scrolling through the computer database for various shuttle schematics. He has become obsessed with the idea of adding a "captain's yacht" beneath the disc, able to undock and serve as a diplomatic vessel. When Spock inquired why a standard shuttle could not serve this purpose, Kirk explained that standard shuttles lacked sufficient "swank".

It is the fourth night in a row that Kirk has been awake; ever since Spock showed him the technical readouts of the _Enterprise_ , he has been making detailed modifications to his own design. Some, Spock has noticed, are in many ways superior to the flagship itself. He is debating on whether to forward a few of the refinements to Captain Pike, as it may yet be possible to incorporate them into the ships still under construction.

However productive Kirk is being, the effects of sleep deprivation are beginning to show. In an attempt to counteract this, Kirk increased his caffeine intake, which has led to a mild overdose of the substance. Spock has not undergone medical training, but the symptoms are unmistakable; over the past three days, Kirk has exhibited steadily decreasing fine motor control, a complete lack of appetite, and both increased restlessness and irritability.

Kirk does not look up as Spock departs. It is not surprising; the last attempt Spock made at engaging him in conversation was unsuccessful. Their brief interaction was noxious, almost combative in nature. The mere suggestion that the cadet might benefit from pause to rest or consume some sort of sustenance was met with the same belligerent attitude Spock witnessed during their first interaction.

The halls of the ship are empty and quiet, dim-lit to imitate the time of day. It only takes Spock four minutes to arrive at med bay. Besides the odd accident through human error or in exercise, their mission so far has not incurred any serious injuries. The bay is deserted aside from two on-duty nurses and Doctor McCoy, whom Spock locates in the office at the rear. He appears to be simultaneously updating six separate PADDs at once, only pausing when the door opens.

If he is surprised to see Spock, it does not show in his expression. "What can I do you for, Commander?"

"According to ship records, Cadet Kirk reported for a routine physical one week ago."

McCoy rolls his eyes. "Under great duress. I practically had to tranq him. What about it?"

"I would like to see the report."

McCoy sits up, folding his hands together over the pile of datapads. "All due respect, Mr Spock, but you know I can't do that."

"I am aware of the protocol, doctor. However, as Kirk is my singular responsibility onboard this ship, I am within my rights to request his records if I suspect his health is at stake."

The doctor leans back in his chair and regards Spock for thirty-two point two seconds before responding: "How long has it been?"

Spock blinks. "I do not — "

"Since he's slept," McCoy explains.

It occurs to Spock that this is not the first time Kirk has exhibited signs of obsessive compulsion. "Seventy-four point seven hours."

"Oh, is that all?" Before Spock can formulate an appropriate reply to that, he continues: "The going record's ninety-seven, if you were wondering. Has he started arguing with the computer terminal yet?"

Spock does not find it reassuring that Kirk's insomnia is a well-documented occurrence. "No more than usual," Spock admits. "But I have measured his caffeine intake over the past several days. He has begun to exceed nine-hundred milligrams within a twenty-four hour period."

McCoy raises an eyebrow. "Starting to piss you off, huh?"

"Doctor — "

"Look, Commander," McCoy interrupts, "unless you confine him to the brig or physically knock him out, there isn't much you can do until his brain actually shuts down in self-preservation and he passes out. Well, nothing that isn't violating at least a few regulations."

Folding his hands behind his back, Spock tilts his head. "I assume you have a suggestion?"

+

Spock is finalizing their itinerary for the day when the comm chirps the next morning, alerting him to someone requesting entry to his quarters. According to the computer, he still has seventeen minutes before being due on the bridge; he glances across the room to the thin sofa attached to the bulkhead, and the figure sprawled on it, before calling: "Enter."

Captain Pike steps into the room, PADD in hand and frowning. "Have you seen this latest transmission from Command? They want to divert us to the Arjan Mining Colony, but it's eight parsecs in the opposite — " He pauses as his eyes fall on Kirk, still fast asleep on the sofa. He blinks. "Well, that's a first."

Spock turns his attention back to his computer, and brings up the transmission in question. Pike is correct in that the colony is significantly off their current course. Due to the severe delay in subspace communications, the orders have arrived too late to adjust their route without gaining at least six days travel. "It is inconvenient, but necessary," he says. "They are requesting medical supplies due to an outbreak of an infectious disease."

"It's still a pain in my ass," Pike says. He jerks his head at Kirk. "How the hell did you manage that?"

Spock returns his gaze to his work, forwarding the new orders to the bridge. "It would seem Kirk accidentally ingested a rather potent hypnotic."

"Accidentally, huh?"

"I was just about to wake him," Spock says, shutting down his terminal and standing. "We are due on the bridge in fifteen minutes."

The corner of Pike's mouth lifts a fraction. "Nah," he says. "Let him sleep."

—~—

**2257.185**

If Kirk suspects Spock had anything to do with the fact that he slept for a consecutive twenty-six hours, he does not mention it. Over the following week, his sleeping habits return to normal — or what passes for normal for him. He seems to function at capacity on a mere four to six hours per day. Every two to three days he works through the night, and the following evening sleeps an average of nine point three hours to compensate.

Spock likewise does not comment on the fact that Kirk no longer goes elsewhere to do so, but has merely taken up residence on the sofa in his office. A small dufflebag appears the very next day, full of spare uniforms, left in clear view — a test, Spock suspects, to see if it will be mentioned. Spock ignores it, preferring the arrangement; it allows him to more closely monitor the cadet's neurotic behavior.

Their unscheduled stop at the mining colony has added a solar week to their voyage, but Spock has managed to calculate a course through deep space that will allow them not only to make up the time, but gain five days once they have completed their round of the Lambda system. Captain Pike is pleased that they will be back on schedule, but in the interim they have a full eleven days at warp ahead of them. Aside from daily system checks and operational procedures, the concern is the crew will find themselves too idle. While all members of Starfleet are encouraged to pursue personal hobbies to combat boredom, statistics show most inter-voyage altercations occur when there is excessive downtime. Pike seems particularly anxious about the cadets, because they are most lacking in experience — and Spock gets the impression there is one cadet in particular the captain is referring to.

While Spock understands the logic of Pike's thought process, he must disagree; Kirk has proven over the weeks that he is more capable than most Terrans when it comes to occupying his free time, to the point that it compromises his own well-being.

This evening, Spock enters his quarters to find a holographic display of various ship parts strewn in a non-linear pattern around the desk. Kirk sits cross-legged in the center of the tabletop, chin propped up on one hand and glaring up at what appear to be the dissected components of a warp core.

"It's like it's making fun of me," Kirk mutters, without looking up.

"I take it the warp drive is 'not cooperating'?"

"More like the universe isn't cooperating." Kirk unfolds his legs and slides off the desk, and proceeds to reassemble the holograph of the core with quick, precise movements of his hands, still talking: "Even the math backs it up, but the damn computer's so conservative it won't even entertain the possibility."

The completed warp drive does not look altogether different than the one currently employed by more Starfleet vessels. "Conservative in what respect?"

Kirk drums his fingers against the holodesk for seven point four seconds before syncing his PADD with the hologram's data and passing it over. By the time Spock has thoroughly reviewed the data (twice), Kirk has taken apart the drive once more and spread the components all over the desk at varying magnifications, adjusting small calculations as he shifts them around.

Kirk turns around abruptly. "I can hear you disagreeing already."

Spock looks up from the PADD. "I have yet to say anything."

"You don't have to. Your eyebrow's doing that _thing_ ," Kirk explains. "But the math is solid."

Spock nods. "The computer accepts your equation, but it refuses to apply it to the program. Likely because such great speeds would have a cataclysmic effect on organic matter."

"No, see, you're doing the same thing," Kirk sighs, rolling his eyes. "Birds of a feather, I swear to God — look, just, try to suspend whatever logical argument your brain has come up with and hear me out, would you?"

Kirk launches into his hypothesis without pausing for a reply, simply expecting Spock to indulge him. Spock thinks that one could make a career out of indulging the cadet; he considers that many already have and are simply not aware of it yet.

Kirk explains that the idea of achieving warp ten arrived after his (simulated) success of utilizing artificial dilithium. It is logical, in that respect; the monocrystals would, theoretically, be able to stabilize the necessary power to produce such speed. More importantly, the overall structure of the vessel would be unaffected by the acceleration. However, the fact that it could have multiple significant effects (purely theorized, but none of them favorable) on organic lifeforms does not seem to concern Kirk.

"You're not hearing me," Kirk says, when Spock points this out for the second time. "You're _listening_ , but you're not hearing what I'm saying. Look," he continues before Spock can interject — he most certainly _is_ hearing what Kirk is saying — "It's completely besides the point. Hell, we'd all be liquefied at warp one, but the gravimetric shields neutralize the force — "

"Up to a point," Spock interjects. "Even with the additional power from monocrystals, the amount of force you are calculating has a ninety-six point four chance of decimating graviton particles faster than the ship can replace them."

"Not if I've got anything to say about it."

"You cannot argue with the facts."

" _Watch_ me."

With a careless swipe of his hand, Kirk moves the warp drive offscreen and pulls up a small rendering of his ship, along with a portion of the Beta quadrant. The ship is intentionally off-scale, far too large next to the sector of the galaxy; the distance from one end to the other is three thousand, sixty-seven point four eight parsecs — exactly ten thousand lightyears.

"At warp five, going from point A to B would take us about four weeks, right? But if we _cheat_ ," he highlights the sector, enveloping it in a transparent bubble. Spock watches in fascination as the sphere warps, pinching in the middle until it forms a torus. The rendered ship moves through center, emerging on the other side as the sector resumes occupying a sphere. "We could do it in a _week_. I mean, okay, technically it's just making a shortcut, but it mimics warp ten without the nasty side-effect of killing us all."

Spock moves to the desk and re-runs the simulation, paying particular attention to the calculations running along the vidscreen below the hologram. It is not necessarily a new theory, but an ancient one that Kirk has recycled using modern technology. "You are basing this entirely on brane cosmology?"

Kirk tilts his head and makes a rather strange face. "Kind of? I mean, twenty-first century string theory got more things wrong than not, but they had the right general idea. Even now we still can't explain why half the technology we have actually _works_ , but we're happy to keep on taking advantage of it."

Spock is not well-versed in outdated Terran theoretical physics, but the Vulcan Science Academy has debated similar concepts for decades. Kirk is correct in that the hypothesis of extra dimensions — and multiple universes — remains unproven, even with current scientific advancements.

Spock is unsure if the fact that this cadet designed the simulation to demonstrate the _possibility_ of achieving a higher warp (or at least the illusion thereof) is brilliant or simply alarming; the mere basis of his theory could easily serve as a topic for an entire dissertation.

"I'm not saying we should try it _tomorrow_ ," Kirk continues when Spock remains silent. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, a habit Spock has come to associate with insecurity. "But if it _works_ — shit, we could make the hop to Andromeda inside of two decades."

Considering the vast majority of their own galaxy still remains unexplored, this prospect is overwhelming. Logically, the necessary tests and advancements required to even begin testing the theory would take a decade in and of itself, and —

The intercom chirps; Kirk, radiating relief at the interruption, answers the call.

Captain Pike is requesting a meeting. Spock leaves Kirk to his — admittedly bold — aspirations and makes the short journey to the captain's personal quarters. Pike has laid out the remaining destinations of their voyage in accordance with Spock's adjustment to their course, and wishes to review the inventory of supplies for each stop. They must adjust some of the provisions due to their unscheduled drop of medical supplies to the mining colony, but Spock calculates that — provided no other emergencies emerge — they will have an adequate amount to complete their run. He works quietly, still preoccupied with the logistics of Kirk's elaborate ideas on extragalactic travel.

"All right," Pike says abruptly, "what is it?"

Spock looks up from his work. "Captain?"

"You've reorganized the crew for the same shuttle three times without making any changes," Pike points out, the edge of his mouth curving. "What's on your mind?"

Spock looks down at his PADD and is disconcerted to realize Pike is correct. "I apologize, Captain. I am not usually prone to distraction."

"I'm aware. What's he done this time?"

Spock no longer needs to ask how Pike knows _why_ he is distracted. "Programmed a simulation demonstrating a cogent hypothesis of achieving intergalactic speeds with a starship."

"Oh, is that all?" Spock looks up to see Pike is smiling. "I'd say 'I told you so', but that would be unprofessional and rude."

Spock tactfully ignores the sarcasm. "I still maintain his ingenuity would serve the Federation better if put to practical use."

"You would, but you're not looking at the big picture. I've only known Jim for about a year and a half, and in that time he's had enough ideas to fill every data bank onboard this ship. The problem with being that prolific is there generally isn't enough time in the day to finish what you start."

"Would it not be more beneficial to encourage him to focus?"

"God, no," Pike says, sitting back. "That prospect is frankly terrifying. He'd either end up taking over the galaxy or destroying the fabric of reality. Luckily for us, he'll get bored before he breaks anything important."

Two months ago, Spock would have assumed such a statement to be an exaggeration. "Kirk mentioned it was you who convinced him to join Starfleet," Spock prompts.

"Not quite." Spock tilts his head in question and Pike elaborates: "I had to dare him to."

"What was he doing before he enlisted?"

Pike smirks. "Bleeding all over the floor of a bar."

—~—

**2257.194**

Spock is pulled from meditation by the insistent chirp of the intercom. He does not realize it is still Gamma shift until Doctor McCoy's voice says: "Sorry to wake you, Commander, but you're needed down in med bay."

If it were a serious injury, McCoy would have woken the captain, so it is more likely an accident. Depending on the circumstances, regulations occasionally require a report to be signed off and sent back to headquarters. It is only a minor inconvenience. Spock informs the doctor he will arrive shortly before noting the time in the ship's log and dressing.

It is not until he exits his sleeping area and notices the empty sofa that Spock suspects that there has been no accident.

Only one bed is occupied when Spock enters the med bay, and the patient — a security officer, from his insignia — is being attended to by a nurse. He is conscious, but avoids Spock's gaze as the nurse runs a regenerator over what appears to be a deviated nasal septum.

"Mr Spock."

McCoy beckons him from the door of the office. When Spock enters, he is unsurprised to see Kirk slumped in a chair opposite the desk, exhibiting severe hematoma around his left eye and a buildup of dried exudate on his lower lip.

"He asked for it," Kirk says, folding his arms over his chest.

"I'm sure," McCoy mutters, closing the door and turning back to Spock, handing him a PADD. "I've taken the liberty of filling out the incident report, but I figured you'd want to do this by the book."

"Quite correctly," Spock says.

He takes a moment to review the report; the altercation occurred in the mess hall at 0237 hours; eighteen minutes ago. Kirk states that he had provocation (though no further detail is supplied), while Lieutenant Riker maintains the attack was unprovoked. Three additional crew members had to intervene before the two were successfully separated, and then escorted to medical.

Spock looks up at the cadet. "I do not suppose you care to elaborate."

Kirk is glaring at the floor, his right leg bouncing convulsively on the ball of his foot. "Not really."

Spock turns his gaze to McCoy, who shakes his head. "You're welcome to try, but I don't think Riker's going to shine any light on it, either."

If neither of the men are willing to expound on their statements, Spock is left with two options: a day in ship's brig or confinement to quarters until they are able to reconcile their differences. The latter is preferable for such a minor ordeal, even though Kirk does not have his own private quarters to return to.

He makes the necessary notes in the report before signing off on it, and returning the datapad. "Thank you, doctor. I presume he has refused treatment?"

McCoy rolls his eyes in reply. When Spock turns to Kirk, the cadet lets out an exaggerated sigh before pushing to his feet. "I'm _fine_."

"Clearly."

Spock motions for Kirk to go ahead of him. It is fortunate, because the doctor halts him at the doorway, offering a handheld regenerator. "Saving you the trip back down," McCoy explains. "Once the adrenaline wears off, he'll start whining."

Spock accepts the device and follows in Kirk's steps. Riker is still bed-bound, but will receive his confinement orders once he is discharged.

The trip back to his quarters is quiet. The few crew members they pass glance first at Kirk's injuries, then at Spock before issuing a quick salute and continuing on their respective ways.

When they enter the room, Kirk stands awkwardly by the sofa while Spock orders the computer to adjust the lights to thirty percent. Kirk's head is hung and his arms are still crossed over his chest, and he is looking anywhere except at Spock.

"Perhaps you should clean up," Spock suggests.

Kirk starts, glancing at Spock as if he had forgotten he was there. "Um. Yeah. I mean, you don't mind?"

"I would not offer if I did."

"Right." Kirk pauses for four point two seconds before nodding, and slips into the ensuite refresher without another word.

While the shower runs, Spock sends a message to Pike regarding the incident that he will receive once he wakes. The duty schedules also require reorganizing to account for the detainment of the security officer Riker, which complicates the ship-wide system check that had been scheduled for the morning, now overdue because of their unscheduled detour. By the time Spock has finished filing the orders, the refresher has been quiet for six minutes and thirty-eight seconds.

It is a further two minutes before the door opens and Kirk appears wearing a towel wrapped low along his hips. His hair and skin are still damp, the low light in the room casting them in a warm sheen. His chest is not hairless, but what is present is so sparse and light in color it is nearly invisible. There is a more obvious, darker trail that follows the line of his navel before disappearing beneath the dark terrycloth.

"Dude," Kirk says, drawing Spock's attention back to his face, "that was _awesome_."

Spock assumes Kirk is referring to the fact that, as an officer, he receives a high water ration. Spock is indifferent — while using water to clean has proven medical benefits beyond a force of habit, the sonic is an acceptable alternative. It also has the advantage of not leaving one dripping all over his quarters.

Kirk drops onto the sofa without bothering to dry or dress, closing his eyes and carding his fingers through his hair, scattering water droplets everywhere. "I don't suppose the lecture can wait until I've gotten some sleep."

"I have it on good authority that you do not require much."

Kirk cracks open an eye. "You're spending _way_ too much time with Pike."

"This conversation is not about me," Spock reminds him.

Heaving a heavy sigh, Kirk sits up, planting his bare feet on the floor and balancing his elbows on his knees. "I know it was stupid. And yeah, I know that doesn't mean shit after the fact, but he really did ask for it."

"Unless you are willing to elaborate — "

"It's not important."

"Considering it provoked you to the point of hostility, I disagree."

"That's what it was. We had a disagreement."

"And you assumed physical violence would be more productive than simply discussing the matter?"

Kirk snorts, then winces in pain. "He was being an asshole."

"I am asking for specifics."

Kirk squints at him. "You wouldn't get it."

"I will be the judge of that, Cadet."

Addressing him by his rank has the desired effect; however informal their conversation may have become when off-duty, Spock still remains his superior officer — something Spock feels Kirk often forgets, or more likely chooses to ignore.

Kirk sulks, jaw tightening. "Look," he says, "no disrespect, but I really don't think you can. You — you're all... logical and zen or whatever. And there's nothing _wrong_ with that," he adds, when Spock opens his mouth to object, "it's just... he pissed me off, all right?"

It occurs to Spock that this conversation is very reminiscent of their first, in which Kirk remained stubbornly adamant about his opinions despite Spock's efforts to get him to justify his reasoning. He considers what he has learned about Kirk since that time: that he is impulsive, assertive, hyper-intelligent, and arrogant without the handicap of being overly narcissistic. He is also prone to be more than a little defensive, especially when he does not trust the person he is speaking to. Which seems to include every person on the ship, with the exception of Doctor McCoy and perhaps Captain Pike.

In fact, working with Kirk is very much like attempting to train a feral sehlat. Inherently suspicious and aggressive, they are too intelligent to attack until they are sure there is no alternative.

Backed into a corner, they will always bite.

Spock abruptly elects to change tactics. "I understand better than you presume."

Kirk blinks at the admission, but remains quiet and allows Spock to continue. It is, perhaps, not entirely professional to divulge such personal information. In the interest of resolving whatever mistrust Kirk still harbors of him, however undeserved, he decides it is a necessary informality. Kirk does not speak until he has finished, though his eyebrows are in danger of merging with his hairline by the end.

"Bullshit," Kirk says when he has finished relaying the incident. Spock raises an eyebrow and Kirk simply stares at him. "Seriously?"

"It is not something I am proud of."

"Dude, you were — how old were you?"

"I was eleven."

Kirk laughs, the sound loud and abrupt in the relatively quiet atmosphere. "I thought Vulcans were above schoolyard bullying."

"Embracing logic is a life-long pursuit. It is not something we are born with; we must learn to control our impulses. Children are more prone to emotional outbursts than adults." He pauses, unsure of how to articulate his next phrase. It is not a topic he — or any Vulcan — often speaks of, even among themselves. "Even then, it is uncommon."

"Well, to be fair," Kirk says, "so are you."

Spock is not sure if that is meant to be a compliment or an insult or some strange combination of both, but the conversation is veering off point. "The reason I am insisting on details of your provocation is to ensure the issue, whatever it may be, can be resolved, or at least not reoccur."

"I think he took the hint."

"Nonetheless — "

Kirk sighs. "He insulted a friend of mine."

"The doctor?"

Kirk grins. "He'd have to have a deathwish. No, it was — you don't even know her. But she has a hard enough time, being what she is, y'know? Hell, if anybody could relate, it'd be you." Spock waits for elaboration, because without knowing who Kirk is speaking of, he certainly cannot. Kirk seems to realize this, and continues: "Gaila. She's Orion. First one to enlist, though there're a few others now, I think. And we're — close," he pauses again, shifting in his seat. "It's not exactly a secret, or anything."

"You consider her a friend," Spock says.

Kirk raises an eyebrow. "I thought Vulcans didn't do friends."

"That does not mean we are unfamiliar with the concept."

"Yeah, well, it's more — I don't know. I mean, yeah, we're friends, but we've, uh..." He pauses, licking his lips. "It's complicated."

Even in the dim light, Spock can see the slight flush in his cheeks. He does not need physical contact to know Kirk is uncomfortable. "You are intimate."

"Um. Sure. Let's go with that. It's not like we're a _thing_. Orions aren't... they don't really do monogamy. They think it's weird. Which, okay, fair enough. Considering how fucked up relationships tend to be, can't really blame them. But she's — _fun_. Gorgeous. And a brilliant engineer. But who cares? Let's reduce her to that one tiny aspect of her culture because everything needs to be fucking labelled. Honestly, if she'd — " He pauses again, his smile more rueful than amused. "I probably would have proposed by now. But they don't work that way, and I'm okay with that."

"That is fortunate," Spock says; Kirk blinks, and Spock continues: "as I was under the impression you intended to wed a starship."

"Eh, like I said. Orions are open-minded. We would've figured something out." He grins again, eyes unfocused on the wall behind Spock. "Ow," he adds, fingers coming to rest under the wound on his lip. "I think I might need to go back to med bay."

Spock stands, picking up the handheld regenerator as he circles around the desk, coming to stand before the sofa. "Doctor McCoy predicted you would."

Kirk blinks up at him, then eyes the device in his hands. "That traitor," he mutters. "You're not hiding a hypo behind your back, are you?"

"I am not." Spock holds out his left hand, but pauses when Kirk flinches. "May I?"

Kirk exhales, hot breath a shock against his hand even in the warmth of the room. "Yeah, just — try not to put my eye out."

"Then I suggest you do not move."

Kirk's worry is not unfounded; regenerators are not used on ocular orbits due to their tendency to have adverse effects on the retina. But Spock has received basic field medical training like any officer, and regening a minor hemorrhage is not beyond his expertise.

The bruise has darkened since they left the med bay, creating a dark purple mark along his infraorbital furrow that extends towards his cheekbone, where it has turned red and inflamed. Kirk tilts his head back obligingly when Spock directs him with a small touch to his chin, closing his eyes and sighing as the regenerator hums over the injury, almost instantly reducing the swelling.

Spock cannot avoid touching him further, having to use his thumb to keep the device steady as he makes a second sweep below the eye. His skin feels feverish compared to Spock's own temperature. The required contact also makes it impossible to ignore the sudden increase in Kirk's heart rate, or the way his breathing has become labored.

Having anticipated the contact, Spock prepared himself for the emotional transference. It is unavoidable, but he is able to shield his mind from perceiving anything Kirk does not wish to share. Humans are peculiar that way; they place a high value on the privacy of their thoughts and emotions, despite the fact that they regularly display them. So the powerful pulse of lust gained from the touch is unexpected, but not nearly as much as the fact that it is directed at _him_.

The sheer force of Kirk's arousal jars him, stilling his thumb's progress along the cadet's cheekbone. He has managed not to ascertain Kirk's specific thoughts — for which he is supremely relieved — but the raw tumult of emotion alone is almost too much to manage.

Spock has not engaged in sexual activity for fifty-one weeks and three days. It is unsurprising that his body responds to the emotional stimulation; Kirk is aesthetically pleasing both physically and intellectually. But Kirk is only a cadet, and his personal charge onboard the ship. The entire nature of his arousal, while biologically justifiable, is highly inappropriate. Spock is inexplicably relieved when the device emits two short beeps to indicate it has finished; he inhales deeply and opens his eyes, refocusing on his task.

There is still the large cut on Kirk's lower lip to deal with.

Kirk opens his eyes when Spock rotates his face to the left. Spock uses his thumb to extend his lower lip so the regenerator has access to the entire injury, ignoring the glistening interior and the sudden increase in his own salivation. The heat of his human breath is disorienting, but if Kirk notices his discomfort, he does not mention it. He merely watches Spock quietly, his pupils so widely dilated that only a thin ring of azure is visible.

Even after eight weeks exposure to it, Spock is still in astonished at the vibrancy of the shade. The color of his eyes itself is not strange, merely unusual for a human.

The regenerator beeps again, and Spock runs the pad of his thumb over the healed wound to ensure it is smooth before letting his hand fall. Perhaps there is a xenogene somewhere in Kirk's ancestry that —

"Autonomic homochromatic response to trauma," Kirk says. Spock blinks. "My eyes," the cadet clarifies. His cheeks and chest are still flushed, and mouth curves in what appears to be a smile, but it is not a pleasant expression. "They were hazel, before — that's what they called it, anyway. I don't think they actually have a word for it."

"A previous altercation?"

Curiously, this elicits a laugh that Kirk cuts short. "That's one way of putting it." When Spock remains silent, awaiting elaboration, Kirk sighs. "It's a long story."

At this point, it would be prudent for Spock to retire and meditate. Despite the suddenly sober nature of the conversation, his own physiology is still preoccupied with its arousal. Kirk is clearly unaware of the extent to which Spock is suffering due to their contact. Spock concludes Kirk is merely reacting to the effects of a drastic change in lifestyle; the cadet is clearly used to being sexually active, and the several weeks of abstinence is having detrimental effects on his judgement.

Willing his heart rate to return to a normal rhythm, Spock moves away to retrieve the chair out from behind the desk, placing it across from Kirk before taking a seat. "Indulge me."

Kirk glances at him, down and up again, as if judging whether or not he is worthy of the tale. He sighs again and leans back against the armrest, bringing his bare legs up along the sofa and crossing them at the ankles. He does not speak immediately, but Spock is patient and, quite honestly, curious.

It _is_ a long story; it is 0501 hours before Kirk pauses, yawning. His eyes have been closed for past twenty-six minutes. "So when starving us didn't work, they poisoned the water supply. The compound was upriver, and it was the only source we could get to, so — " He shrugs tiredly.  Spock wonders how one can sound so nonchalant when describing mass genocide. "I don't really remember anything after that, until I woke up strapped into a biobed. They don't know if it was the toxin or the treatment afterwards, but," his eyes finally open to look over at Spock, as blue as the sky back on Earth, "as far as side-effects go, I can't really complain."

The incident on Tarsus IV is not well-known, but there is only so much the Federation can do to repress rumors. Until this, Spock was unaware of many of the details, aside from the high death toll and the year in which it occurred — Kirk would have been entering puberty; a mere child.

The sudden rush of heat Spock feels within him has nothing to do with arousal. "I was unaware you were a survivor."

"I hate that fucking word," Kirk snaps. "Nobody survives something like that. You outlive it."

—~—


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A routine mission is never routine when you add James T. Kirk into the mix, and McCoy knows he is going to regret this because _the aliens are never friendly_.

—~—

**2257.205**

The call comes in halfway through Gamma Shift. Spock is meditating; before he even has a chance to rise, he hears Kirk answer the page from the room beyond with a mangled grunt.

" _Rise and shine, Cadet_." Captain Pike's voice comes in loud and clear over the comm just as Spock enters the office, already dressed. If Pike finds it peculiar that Kirk is still in his First Officer's quarters, he makes no mention of it. " _My ready room, ten minutes. Both of you._ "

Kirk has yet to move, still sprawled on his back across the sofa, one forearm thrown across his eyes. "S'a big 'mergency?"

" _My synthesizer's on the fritz, that's what. So bring up some coffee. Pike out._ "

"Asshole," Kirk says through a yawn, sitting up. He rubs at his eyes, elbows balanced on his knees, before blinking up at Spock. "If this is another drill, I'm going to kill him. And you're going to let me."

Another drill is a possibility; no ship-wide alert has been triggered, but that does not mean this is an exercise. He enters a selection into the synthesizer as he answers: "You would only succeed in promoting me to Acting Captain."

Kirk grimaces. "Good point." He looks up when Spock offers the cup of coffee, staring at it for exactly five seconds before accepting it. "Thanks."

Conscious of Pike's orders, Spock replicates another while Kirk digs out his uniform shirt from under the sofa.

Several other members of the command team are already present when they arrive at the captain's ready room. Spock notes that either Pike has chosen not wake Doctor Laguardia or specifically asked McCoy to join them. Cadet Uhura is unexpectedly present, and smiles at him when he takes his seat beside Pike. The rest of the crew stagger in over the next few minutes, many of them yawning and cradling cups of various steaming beverages.

"Good morning," Pike begins once everyone has gathered. He tactfully chooses to ignore the answering murmur of dissent. "Two hours ago, we picked up a subspace signal of unknown origin about a parsec outside the Hromi Cluster. Further analysis has given us a location," he pauses as the vidscreen zooms in on the system. It illuminates a Class L planet with the designation _Uron IV_. "Naturally, since we're a whole two days ahead of schedule, protocol mandates we investigate."

Spock immediately pulls up all known data of Uron IV on his PADD and is disappointed to see the report is minimal. According to the last assessment of the planet on 2239.109, the gravity is similar to that of Earth, with an atmosphere containing thirteen percent oxygen. It has eighty-six active volcanoes, and registers high humidity due to an abnormally high ratio of surface water for the class of planet. It predominantly features high-altitude rocky terrain, most of it volcanic in origin.

Furthermore, it is prone to volatile electrical storms due to a heavily charged ionosphere. It explains why the original data were gathered via probes — the naturally-occurring electrostatic would render orbital scans useless.

"Cadet Uhura has determined the signal is one of our own, likely from a probe that was damaged and left behind." Spock looks up at this information. While he is pleased that his student has managed to detect such a weak signal mid-warp, it should be impossible. A damaged probe should have automatically self-destructed after two weeks of no contact, or at the very least, rendered itself inert. It should not be emitting a signal seventeen years later. "Due to the temperamental nature of the atmosphere, the landing party will have to take a shuttle down to the surface."

Captain Pike designates Spock to lead the team. Lieutenants Riker and Page will accompany him as security force. As standard procedure calls for a medical officer to be present, McCoy is selected to join them. There are no foreseen medical concerns outside of the need for a regular dose of triox compounds for the Terran crew members, which will be McCoy's main focus.

Their directive is simple: locate the probe, determine what activated it, download any remaining data for further analysis, and destroy the device.

Pike dismisses the meeting once assignments are complete and informs them that it will take twenty-eight minutes to reach their destination. Spock lingers as Pike updates the ship's log, and Kirk slips into the vacated seat beside him. "So... I've got time to jump in the sonic, yeah?"

Pike looks up and raises an eyebrow. "What makes you think you're going anywhere?"

"You said I'm supposed to shadow him," Kirk points out, jerking a thumb in Spock's direction for emphasis. "Can't really shadow him from up here."

"You can shadow him in spirit. The last thing he needs to worry about down there is a cadet getting underfoot."

"If I may," Spock interjects. "I have no objection to Cadet Kirk accompanying the landing party. The mission is routine, and would provide him with valuable experience." He pauses. "Unless you have reservations, Captain."

Kirk's gaze shifts to Pike as he says the words, brows raised in anticipation. Pike glances at him and rolls his eyes. "That whipped puppy look doesn't work on me, kid." Kirk grins, but does not relent. Pike sighs and looks at Spock. "On your own head be it, Commander."

Kirk bounds out of the chair with obvious enthusiasm. Why he is excited to visit a barren world to locate a malfunctioning probe is beyond Spock's understanding. "See you downstairs," Kirk calls, sprinting out of the room.

They both watch him go, Spock bemused and Pike looking exasperated. "That was... oddly nice of you," Pike remarks, turning his gaze on Spock.

"I do not know what you mean, Captain."

"Yeah, sure you don't."

+

Spock's body tenses involuntarily as McCoy knocks into the back of the pilot's chair. "Whose bright idea was this?"

He looks up to see the doctor jerk his head at the entrance of the shuttle, where a freshly uniformed Kirk and Lieutenant Riker stand staring at one another.

"It is a standard retrieval, Doctor," Spock says, turning back to the console to complete the pre-flight check. "I saw no harm in allowing Cadet Kirk to accompany the away team."

"What I meant," McCoy persists, "is that those two don't exactly get along."

Spock considers this. "That was eleven days ago."

"Oh, well, in _that_ case — "

McCoy cuts himself short as Kirk and Riker step into the shuttle, maintaining a careful distance between one another. The doctor glances between the two men, one eyebrow raised. "This isn't going to be a problem, is it?"

"Nah," Kirk glances at Riker as he slides into a seat, the edge of his lips lifting a fraction. "No hard feelings, right?"

Riker turns to glare at Kirk but before he has a chance to reply, the door opens again to admit Lieutenant Page, breathing heavily as she jogs the length of the shuttle.

"Sorry, Commander," she says, securing her brown hair into a haphazard bundle as she slips into the copilot seat. She has changed uniforms, opting for leggings for their trip down to the planet. "We good to go?"

The trip down to the planet is uneventful, aside from the occasional agoraphobic comment from the doctor (despite Kirk's accurate assurances that the shuttle will _not_ spontaneously combust). They are able to isolate the probe's signal down to a fifty meter radius, but the terrain is largely unsound. It takes an additional thirty-four minutes to find a safe landing site near the zone.

Spock syncs his PADD with the shuttle's computer while McCoy administers the triox compound to the rest of the crew; by contrast, Spock will not require medication for the first time in years since travelling to Earth. Uron IV's atmosphere is similar enough to Vulcan's that he will be able to breathe unaided.

"Jesus-fucking- _ouch!_ " Spock looks up to see Kirk rubbing the side of his neck and glaring at McCoy, who is wielding a hypospray and looking immensely pleased. "You didn't stick _him_ that hard!"

"He hasn't earned my lifelong contempt."

"Asshole."

"Baby."

Page raises her eyebrows and glances at Spock. "Are they always like this?"

"After careful observation, I have come to the conclusion that it is how they express affection for one another."

Beside her, Riker snorts. "Is that what they're calling it these days?"

Strangely, this elicits a laugh from Page that she tries to hide behind her hand. Spock does not have the leisure time to try and decipher the source of her amusement, so he turns and disengages the airlock.

The cloudless sky outside is a bright shade of yellow, giving the volcanic rock a deep olive appearance. They are in a shallow valley, bordered by a large, smoking volcano to the east and an immense promontory approximately two hundred fifty meters to the north. The atmosphere contains the same oxygen content as Vulcan, but it is not arid — hot, certainly, stuck in a close orbit with an F-sequence star, but considerably more humid than Spock is used to and smelling strongly of sulfur.

Spock feels his inner eyelids snap into place involuntarily against the harsh light. There is no obvious plant life, but there are jagged, stalagmite-like formations of basalt twice their height. The structures form tight, twisting channels they have no choice but to navigate. Locating the probe will not be an easy process with such hazardous terrain. Using the uplink from the shuttle, Spock triangulates the location of the probe with his PADD before leading the party north, towards the promontory in the distance.

The going is slow, which Spock does not mind. It allows him to collect samples of condensation and rock fragments, conducting bio-analysis on his tricorder as they wind their way through the endless maze. The away team falls into a line formation, Kirk just behind him and conducting a non-stop conversation with Page, only broken by the occasional, indecipherable mutter from McCoy. Riker follows up the rear, his phaser holstered; after all, their security presence is a mere formality on a lifeless planet.

It takes two point seven hours to locate the probe, approximately one-hundred and twenty meters from where they landed the shuttle. It is a small model, a meter long and twenty-four centimeters wide, and buried deep inside a crevice far too small to admit him. They would have walked right past it if not for the locator pinging on his datapad.

"Is it alive?" Kirk's head appears by his shoulder, eyes cyan in the strange light. His pupils are narrowed to points even though he his squinting. Spock inhales, and becomes acutely aware of his scent. It is not unpleasant; sapid, bordering on intoxicating. "Wow, how the hell did it get in there?"

"The topography of this world is highly volatile."

"Really? And here I thought we were taking a stroll at the base of a big ass volcano or something." Kirk's chest is pressing against his shoulder, and while he does not mind the contact, the heat is oppressive even by Vulcan standards. But in addition to heat, Kirk is also radiating a calm curiosity and Spock finds it oddly soothing. "How the hell are we supposed to get to it?"

"Well, Kirk, if you'd get your big ass head out of the way," Page says from behind; Kirk laughs and pulls back, and is replaced by the woman. She tactfully refrains from making contact. "Do you mind, Commander?"

He takes the proffered utility belt from her hands, and steps back to allow her access. She sheds her outer uniform shirt, revealing a black camisole underneath. Her chest and well-defined shoulders are slick with sweat. She is not, strictly speaking, qualified to disarm the probe, but is petite enough that — sans the belt at her waist — she may be able to fit through the tight space. It still takes four minutes and some assistance from McCoy, but she manages to align her profile along the diagonal opening and shift inside.

There is a further delay of six minutes and eleven seconds due to the sharp edges of the basalt cutting through the skin of her arms and hands that McCoy insists on treating before allowing her to continue. "Last thing we need is you coming down with some unknown xenodisease."

Talking the lieutenant through the process of downloading the probe's data banks onto his PADD takes twice as long as it would for Spock to do it himself. She is competent, however, and manages to program the device to decommission on its own in ten hours time without incident. They are unable to determine what reactivated the probe, and will need to thoroughly analyze the data back onboard the ship.

By the time McCoy has helped her exit the tight compartment, the sky overhead has begun to dim due to incoming cloud-cover. Riker completed their last check-in to the _Hawking_ via commlink fifteen minutes ago; Spock is about to confirm with Captain Pike before setting back towards the shuttle when he hears Riker's voice call out: "Where are you going?"

Page pauses at the edge of a corner, ten meters away to the north and nearly out of line of sight. "I just need a minute."

"You shouldn't be — "

"I have to _pee_ , Sam," Page says, not bothering to mask her exasperation.

Riker is correct that, according to protocol, no crew member should be on their own, but Spock cannot see the harm. Urinating is a biological necessity, and their foray on this planet has exceeded the expected amount of time. McCoy has had to re-administer the triox compound to the crew three times. "Let her be, Lieutenant."

The moment Page is out of view, Kirk snorts and gives Riker what appears to be a companionable slap on the back. "I'm sure she'll comm if she needs any help, buddy."

Spock returns to his task of comming the _Hawking_ , intent on informing Captain Pike that their mission is complete and they should make it back to the shuttle before sundown. His attempt is met with a high-frequency garble. Spock recalibrates his communicator and tries again, but it is of no use. He considers the clouds above to be the source of the interference — if so, they are most likely a prelude to an electrical storm. If that is the case, they must return to the shuttle promptly before the weather becomes too hostile.

Spock's attention is called back to the away team at McCoy's shout: "When you break your fool neck, don't come crying to me!"

Kirk has managed to climb atop one of the large crags just ahead, and is perched precariously on the top. He is shielding his eyes with one hand and holding his tricorder in the other. "Commander," he calls down, voice low, "I thought you said the last survey of this planet marked it uninhabited."

Spock moves beside the spire, eyes on the cadet. "You are correct."

"Then why am I getting life-sign readings?"

It is the only warning they have before Spock hears the sound, a distant _clack_ followed by an explosive echo, a mere millisecond before the impact — he is showered with fragments of basalt as the shot collides with the rock above him. He instinctively ducks, shielding his eyes.

Another shot follows three seconds later, approximately where Spock's head had been moments before. He hears something heavy hit the ground beside him, followed by Kirk swearing. He rolls into Spock, knocking them both flat on the ground.

When Spock opens his eyes Kirk is lying on his back beside him, chest heaving. "Are you hit?"

Kirk pats his hands down his chest and opens his eyes, turning to look at Spock. "I'm good. You?"

"I am unhurt." Spock pulls himself up, staying low and using the rocks for cover. More shots are hitting the formations overhead, pelting them with pebbles. Whatever is firing upon them is not using phaser weapons, and by calculating the decipherable lapse between the sounds and the impacts, is doing so from a long distance.

McCoy and Riker are opposite them, similarly crouched on the ground for cover. "I can't get through to the ship!" Riker shouts between shots, his phaser in hand. "I keep getting — "

Another shot is fired, only this one causes a small explosion. The rock at their backs shudders as it absorbs the impact.

"Well, I hate to point out the obvious," Kirk yells over the noise, brushing dust and fragments of shiny basalt from his hair, "but I think that last survey missed something."

Spock can hear high-pitched screeches nearby, but it is not a language he recognizes. He activates his translator, but the device seems to be suffering from the same interference as their long-range communication — that, or it is simply unable to decipher the language.

" _Kirk!_ " It is Lieutenant Page's voice; Spock turns his head to see Kirk has his communicator out. The transmission is choppy, but intelligible. " _Wha — hell's going — shooting at us?_ "

"I dunno, but I think we pissed it off!" Kirk snaps back, wincing and covering his head as another barrage of gunfire pelts the crag they have taken shelter behind. He scoots closer, bringing the side of his body tight against Spock's; rather than feel crowded or the urge to pull away, Spock is strangely relieved. "You all right?"

" _Peachy. I'll_ — "

The call cuts short; the scream comes from behind them, from the north. Before Spock has a chance to issue any orders, Kirk curses and scrabbles around the rock, disappearing from view.

"Cadet!" His call is drowned out by a series of shots when he moves to follow, forcing him back.

Riker pushes to his feet and fires his phaser into the channel, three blue pulses of light causing a brief lull in the shots. "Go, I'll cover you!"

Kirk hasn't gone far; Spock finds him standing inside a large ring of rock looking dumbfounded. Before him is Lieutenant Page, shoulders heaving with labored breaths, her phaser trained towards the ground. One band of her uniform is torn and there is a small abrasion on her cheek, a single trail of blood connecting it to her jaw.

At her feet lies two of their attackers and their discarded weapons. They are humanoid, at least in the sense that they have four limbs attached to a torso, in addition to thick, finned tails. The dark, scaly skin that is visible is shiny, as if moist. There appears to be a large, single nostril just above two large eyes framing a small, protruding snout. Each hand ends in four thick, webbed digits, one of which is an opposable thumb.

"Nice of you to join me," Page says, holstering her weapon and glancing between the two of them. "Anybody want to tell me how I just got jumped while taking a piss on an uninhabited planet?"

Kirk starts to answer, but Spock holds up a hand. The cadet closes his mouth obediently, and seems to understand; the gunfire has ceased, but the sheer force of the attack indicates that there are more than two attackers. The first shot alone must have come from a distance of fifty meters or more, and —

Spock pauses in his thoughts as the sudden silence is broken by a low rumble. At first, he assumes it is thunder, but the noise continues for too long. The rumble echoes closer, far too quickly, the sounds almost overlapping themselves. He is still looking at Kirk when the cadet first detects the noise, eyes travelling up.

"I think," Kirk says, "we're overdue at the shuttle."

"I think you are correct."

Stating the last survey missed something is an understatement; the planet is clearly inhabited, but the species is also sentient and technologically advanced. Not warp-capable, perhaps, possessing only primitive firearms but also — all three of them duck as the sounds overtake them, a tornado of generated wind and noise — _aircraft_.

The two enemy vehicles are small and offensively noisy, propelled by three sets of rotating blades. A sizable threat, but not the one to focus on. The forces on the ground are priority; Spock can no longer hear them over the sound of the motors, but he can hear the shots they fire, ricocheting off the rocks behind them. Ahead of him, Kirk is shouting something into his communicator while Page covers them from the rear. Spock has his phaser in hand for what little good it will do them — they are moving too quickly to properly return fire.

Riker's form appears around a corner, his voice lost in the noise. The craft seem to be circling, passing over them and sweeping back, tracking them. Spock takes a quick inventory of the party: McCoy and Riker are beyond the corner, Kirk is ahead and Page is behind. No one is seriously injured — yet — and the last round of triox injections will be wearing off. They have lost all communication with their ship. He has no idea how many enemies are in pursuit, only that they are aggressive and well-armed, and have the added advantages of knowing the terrain and air support.

Spock calculates their chances of survival to be zero point zero six three percent.

Sharing this information would not be conducive to their situation, and there is no time to convey it. Page has crouched beneath a small shelf of rock to return fire, Kirk falling back and dropping by her side. They have managed to at least halt their pursuers and, judging by the sudden shriek, injure one of them.

" _Go!_ "

Spock sees Kirk give the order more than hears it; the aircraft sweeps past overhead again, raining shots down from above. Spock flattens himself against the rock wall just as Page slips past, still firing blindly backwards. Kirk is moving back, still low to the ground, phaser trained on the attackers.

There are four of them now, all armed and pushing forward despite the returning fire. Spock grabs Kirk by the shoulder as soon as he is in reach, nearly ripping the fabric of his uniform as he pulls him up and back against the wall before dragging him around the corner. "We must _move_ , Cadet."

Kirk rests his back against the wall, breathing heavily and slick with sweat, phaser pulled in close to his chest. "You know as well as I do that running isn't going to change how completely fucked we are."

"Nevertheless — "

"No, _fuck_ this. Fuck _them!_ " He jerks out of Spock's grip, throwing out his arm and firing blindly into the channel. Even without aiming, the chance of him hitting a target is roughly eighty-three percent; an answering shriek confirms it. "I am not getting killed by a bunch of landsharks on some backworld asteroid!" He fires again; there is no scream this time, only a barrage of shots that force him to pull his arm back. "If we can hold them off until the others get back to the — "

His last words are cut short as one of the aircraft hovers immediately above them and fires another incendiary, much more powerful than the last. The pressure wave does more damage than the missile itself, filling his ears with an interminable ringing as shards of rock cascade down around them. He attempts to move and stumbles, overcome with vertigo.

Kirk is shouting something but Spock cannot hear him over the clangor. He reaches out and catches Spock before he falls — over his shoulder, Spock sees the point of a weapon come around the corner.

Spock does not hear the shot. He sees the creature snarl, lips pulling back over sharp teeth; large eyes framing the sights over the barrel; the operating bolt spring forward as the trigger is pulled. He uses every ounce of strength he can muster to throw Kirk out of the way.

The last thing Spock sees is a dark gold sky overhead, divided by pulses of neon red.

  
—~—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anyone throws anything at my head, this chapter was originally 12k (hence why the update is late), so my lovely betas convinced me to post it in two parts. Because who doesn't love a cliffhanger? So yes, the next part is done, just awaiting their further edits. Now pardon me while I retire to a cave somewhere and hide.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock is only mostly dead, Kirk single-handedly blows up an entire outpost, this is exactly why McCoy hates flying, and Pike comes to the (somewhat painful) realization that he has nobody to blame but himself.

—~—

**2257.205 (cont'd)**

Spock is cold. 

The shock of it is what awakens him. His body is shivering, almost convulsing in an effort to generate warmth. It is the first thing he is aware of, teetering along the narrow bridge between consciousness and the void of deep meditation his body is seeking. But he is aware enough to know that meditation will not help him now, except to deter the pain. The pain follows the cold quickly, and is worse than he hypothesized. Then again, Spock has never been shot, and certainly not with weapons that still fired projectiles. 

He attempts to open his eyes, and for a moment thinks he may be blind-folded, because it is still dark. But no, it merely takes his eyes two point four seconds to adjust — there is light, dim and out of his line of sight, and it illuminates the silhouettes of the two figures above him. He cannot understand the words; this close, he can decipher why his translator is useless. The creatures appear to be stuttering, but it is only due to the fact that they are speaking using such a high frequency that his ears are only able to detect small portions of the speech. There is also the fact that he is still suffering residual auditory damage from the explosion, although it has faded to a quieter, mildly irritating hum. The creatures appear to be arguing, gesticulating and breathing heavily. 

Spock closes his eyes again and concentrates on his body. The skin of his chest is exposed; someone has removed his uniform shirt. The bare skin of his back lies against something flat and smooth (metal, perhaps) and elevated. The pain seems centered deep within the left part of his chest. His entire side feels aflame despite the coldness of the room, and he is having trouble breathing. He concludes that he is likely suffering massive internal bleeding and perhaps a partially collapsed lung. That leaves two possibilities: either the blood will fill his chest cavity, suppressing his lungs and asphyxiating him, or the untreated open wound will become infected and he will die of shock as the sepsis sets in. 

He does not assuage himself with the idea of rescue. Protocol in this situation dictates those able to return to the ship do so as soon as possible to re-evaluate the situation before pursuing lost comrades. It is likely he is already assumed dead. Even if the shot did not kill him instantly, it is clear that this species is extremely hostile. There is no reason for anyone to assume they would not execute Spock once it is discovered he is still alive. Failing that, they will turn to interrogation, and when unsuccessful will resort to execution. The wound, left untreated, will kill him anyway. 

Given the choice, Spock prefers asphyxiation. Quicker, and certainly less painful. 

There is a loud explosion to his right, followed by the familiar — though somewhat muted — sound of phaser fire. Spock opens his eyes in time to see the two dark figures above him turn towards the noise. The first drops before completing the move, hitting the table on its way down and sending a new shock of pain through Spock's body. The pain eclipses his vision, but he hears the telling sound of something heavy hitting the floor zero point three seconds later. 

"Jesus Christ," are the first words Spock hears that do not require a translator to be understood. 

"Oh, fuck." The second voice is unmistakable. It has been a constant presence at his shoulder for the past two months. "Is he..." 

"He's alive, Jim." The doctor. Spock wants to tell them that this is not protocol; they should be back onboard the _Hawking_ , reporting to Captain Pike. "Not for long, though. Can you bolt that door? I need to take care of this now." 

"I sort of broke the door." Kirk manages to sound apologetic. There is a sound of metal grating on metal, and the echoes of indistinct shouting in the distance. "And more of them are coming. All right. Hey, you two. Yeah, you, who the hell else would I be talking to? Cover the entryway." Spock feels the table move and hisses involuntarily from the pain. "Bones, help me with him." 

"Jim, what in God's name — " 

"Can he wait until we get back?" 

"No, but — " 

"Then shut up and help me!" 

Spock feels hot, bare hands on his shoulder and gasps. Unanticipated, the contact hurts more than the wound currently killing him. The fear coursing through him is palpable, and it takes a moment for him to realize it is not his own; it is Kirk's. Which is strange. Kirk does not sound and is not acting frightened, but Spock can feel his fear just the same. 

"Sorry," Kirk whispers above his head. Whether he is apologizing for the emotional transference or the impending discomfort, Spock is not able to determine. "Ready?" he asks, louder. "On three — " 

In an attempt to protect itself, his mind blocks out the pain and everything else for the next few moments. Spock is distantly aware that he is being moved off the table and lowered, trading the cool smoothness of the metal for the icy roughness of the earthen floor. There is a loud clang to his right, and when Spock opens his eyes again the table has been overturned beside him, shielding him from the open doorway. 

"Hey, Commander." Kirk's face floats in and out of Spock's vision. He is moving too quickly for Spock to bring him into focus, but he appears singed, as if he has had a close call with a large fire. There is a warm hand enveloping Spock's right, and Kirk's fingers are brushing the inside of his wrist, searching for a pulse. The touch is shockingly intimate, but Spock is too weak to protest. "Still with us?" 

"He's in shock, Jim." McCoy is at his left side. Spock can hear the tell-tale beep of a tricorder as it completes a scan. "Jesus, it's still in him. He's bleeding internally." 

"Can you — " 

"I can try. I need to remove it before I can do anything else; I just hope the damn thing hasn't fragmented." 

"Kirk! Incoming!" 

Spock recognizes the third voice as Lieutenant Riker's, which is shortly followed by a burst of gunfire from outside. Kirk disappears from view, and the sound of phasers being discharged follows. 

"Jesus Christ," McCoy says again. Spock winces as the doctor places a hand flat against his chest, right beside the wound. There is no fear this time, just a jumble of irritation and determination. "Jim, hold him _still_." 

The doctor's voice is barely discernible over the noise, but Kirk seems to understand and rearranges himself quickly; his legs over Spock's torso, knees squeezing Spock's elbows against his side, his pelvis seated firmly on Spock's solar plexus. 

Overhead, Kirk is still firing over the table while McCoy takes something out of his medkit before turning back to Spock, leaning down to speak in his ear. "I'm sorry, Commander, but I'm afraid this is going to hurt like hell. Do me a favor and try not to pass out." 

It is a logical request, but one Spock is not sure he can comply with. If the pain was terrible before, it is horrific now; there is something — he suspects the doctor's fingers — digging deep into the wound. The pressure is unbearable. He cannot _breathe_. Spock feels himself losing control over his actions; his body needs oxygen, and will get it any way it knows how, including overpowering the two humans holding him down. The fact that Spock knows that this will do more harm than good means nothing to his instincts. But before he can move there is a new pain, sharp and piercing, followed quickly by an uncomfortable hollow sensation. 

"Put a fire under it, Bones!" Kirk's voice again, and the sound of a phaser being switched from Stun to Kill. 

"Do you want me to kill him?" McCoy snaps back, still crouched by Spock's side and running a regenerator over his chest. He simultaneously administers a hypospray to Spock's carotid artery, and the relief is almost instantaneous. 

There is still pain, a residual ache, but it is manageable. Spock no longer feels disabled by it. He demonstrates this by attempting to sit up, but Kirk is still sitting on top of him and ducks for cover the same moment he starts to rise. 

" _Fuck_ — " 

Spock manages to grab Kirk by the collar and jerk him back down just as a hail of fire descends on their meager blockade, pebbling the table before them and wall behind them. The move was one of reflex, and while it is worth saving the cadet's life, it is still uncomfortable. Spock has never been subject to so much unanticipated contact in so short a time. 

"Ouch," Kirk says, rolling off him before adding, "thanks." The shots subside as the Lieutenants Riker and Page return fire from their posts at the doorway. "Spock! Shit. Are you all right?" 

"He still needs — " the doctor begins. 

"I am well enough to move," Spock interrupts, struggling to pull himself up while being careful to remain shielded by the overturned table. "They have taken my phaser." 

"Here." Kirk tosses Spock his own. Spock is about to protest — despite breaching protocol, Kirk has demonstrated his skill with the weapon by infiltrating the enemy camp — but before he can, Kirk is relieving the two dead bodies on the floor of their weapons. There are three of them, crude models, but clearly still effective. He takes the pistol and tucks it into his phaser holster before handing the one with a long barrel with a manual pump to McCoy. 

"Jim, I don't — " 

"Point and pull the trigger. You can't miss with that," Kirk insists while checking the ammunition magazine on what looks rather like a centuries-old Terran assault rifle. 

"I didn't mean I don't know what to do with it," McCoy says, chambering a round with one hand. "I grew up in the South, remember?" Unfathomably, this makes Kirk grin. "I just don't see what good it'll do, considering how we're now boxed in here." 

"Details." Kirk waves a hand dismissively, as if their predicament is merely a temporary inconvenience. 

"I assume you have some harebrained plan to get us all killed, then." 

"Technically, I'm not in charge anymore," Kirk says, looking at Spock. 

"Technically, you were never in command," Spock points out, glancing over the table to see Riker and Page trading fire with their attackers from the doorway, "considering you are in the company of three lieutenants." 

Kirk opens his mouth to no doubt protest, but McCoy speaks over him. "It was either go with him, or let him go off on his own. And with all due respect, Commander, considering it saved your sorry ass, might I suggest we keep the lecture about insubordination dependent on getting the hell out of here?" 

Spock has to concede that the doctor has a point; reprimanding Kirk for breaking protocol is not a priority. It can wait, assuming they can successfully escape. Spock still feels weak from the blood loss, and his chest aches with every breath. "Have you been able to re-establish communication with Captain Pike?" 

Kirk shakes his head. "Not with Zeus throwing a fit outside. I've never seen pink lightning before, but it doesn't agree with our comms anymore than the normal stuff." He pauses to peek over the table and fire off a few shots with his new weapon. He adapts quickly, Spock has to admit. "We've got intercom capabilities, but we haven't been able to hail the _Hawking_ since you went off and got shot." 

He says it in a way that insinuates Spock got injured on purpose. More to the point, if they have not reported back to the ship, he has to assume Captain Pike is aware something is amiss. Whether or not he is in a position to assist them remains to be seen — if their communicators are not fully functional, it is a logical conclusion that emergency transporter capabilities are not an option. "I require a status report." 

"No major injuries." 

"Enemy forces?" 

"Not counting those two?" Kirk jerks his head at the two figures on the floor. "I counted twenty-seven up top." He fires over the table again; there is an answering shriek from the hallway. "Twenty-six," he corrects, ducking just in time to avoid a fatal head injury. "We're in a big complex, built into the cliffside. Bit of a maze to navigate, though most of them were out on the surface, scrambling over a bunch of massive generators. It was easy enough to sneak in here, but then we had to blow the door. Not before I left them a little surprise, though." 

He holds up a hand before Spock can ask for clarification; almost on cue, there is another explosion from the hallway, followed by what Spock is sure — even without a functioning translator — is a litany of angry swearing. Kirk smirks. "Think I've pissed them off yet?" 

In spite of the situation, Spock finds he finally understands Pike's fascination with Kirk. If their enemies have not yet realized dealing with his antics are more trouble than they are worth, they will regret their decision to become hostile soon, whatever the outcome. 

"I have noticed," Spock says, resisting the urge to smile back, "that is a singular talent you possess." 

\+ 

The explosive charge Kirk rigged with an old-fashioned (but effective) trip wire disabled their assailants enough that the five of them are able to stun the two survivors and escape the compound unhindered. Upon exiting, they face a new dilemma. 

The clear, yellow sky Spock remembers has turned as dark as deep space. Black clouds swirl overhead at the mercy of high-velocity winds, causing the freezing rain to come down in heavy, diagonal sheets. Lightning branches across the clouds in a magenta web, leaving behind a constant stream of rolling thunder. 

Electrical inference, indeed. Spock does not need to conduct an atmospheric scan to know that transporting out is impossible. 

"Nice ink," Kirk says. "What is that?" 

He is referring to the ritual mark Spock received after completing the kahs-wan. Without his uniform the mark is visible, inscribed along the inside of his right bicep. "Now is not an appropriate time to discuss it," Spock tells him, conscious of Kirk's lingering gaze. "It would be prudent for you to focus on keeping watch." 

In spite of the storm, Riker is attempting to hail the _Hawking_ while the rest of them huddle in the doorway in an effort to conceal their escape and shield themselves from the inclement weather. The latter is not successful; the uniforms of the crew are water-logged in a matter of minutes. The pain of Spock's partially-healed wound is an afterthought to the marked drop in temperature, complicated now by the precipitation and the loss of his own shirt. Due to his Vulcan biology, he may be stronger than the combined force of his human landing party, but it means he is also in serious danger of becoming hypothermic. 

He suspects the only person to realize this is the doctor, who is shooting furtive glances his direction while Riker fails, once again, to get a message through. "I believe it is safe to assume we are cut off from communicating with the ship," Spock says. 

Riker looks up and opens his mouth as if to argue, then glances at each of them in turn. "Where the hell is Kirk?" 

Spock turns around; where Kirk had been guarding their flank, Spock now sees an empty spot along the wall. Spock reconsiders that it may not have been him McCoy had been directing worried glances at. 

He is still debating whether or not to risk going after his wayward shadow when Kirk drops down off the ledge above them, weapon slung over his back and rolling as he hits the ground. He comes up covered in mud from head to toe, black as the landscape around them — except for his eyes, a deep indigo that seems to glow in the darkness. 

"There's four generators," he points them out as he speaks, two in view to the north and west, small domes mounted with thin rods reaching into the sky. "I think they're harnessing the electrical storm to siphon power. I can't tell for what, but it's gotta be something big!" He shouts the information quickly, barely giving Spock time to digest the details before continuing: "I can see one of the choppers, over by the cliff. If we can draw them away — it's our best bet at getting back to the shuttle." 

Before giving Spock the chance to challenge him, Kirk disappears around the corner again, simply expecting them to follow. When Spock looks to the doctor for an explanation, the man raises his hands in a defensive gesture. "Trust me, Commander, it's easier just to roll with it." 

\+ 

The top of the promontory is less hazardous than the terrain they landed on, and is framed on the north by an immense ocean. There are few sources of artificial light, but the constant lightning is illuminating enough for even his human comrades to make out their surroundings. Kirk is indeed correct about the generators; the thin rods protruding into the sky are humming loudly enough to produce vibrations along the rock beneath their feet. Large, covered coils seem to be funneling the power from the devices into the ground or, in the case of the northern post approximately thirty meters ahead, right over the side of the cliff. 

Directly behind it sits their target. The small aircraft is sat behind another small barricade and seems to be hooked into the generator as well, likely charging. It has no doors, and looks as if it could easily accommodate the five of them, provided they can figure out how to operate it. 

Crowded around it are no less than ten of the creatures, although getting a proper count is impossible as they are in constant motion. They do not seem aware of Spock's escape — the sound of the storm and the underground nature of his holding cell must have provided cover despite Kirk's use of explosives. 

"You want to do _what?_ " McCoy demands. 

They are huddled behind a small, natural barricade of rock. Kirk is currently reloading his weapon with ammunition gathered off the bodies inside the complex. He also confiscated a belt containing what appear to be several explosive grenades. He hands a couple to Riker, who accepts them without question. 

"We can't take them all on _and_ learn how to fly that thing at the same time," Kirk tells the doctor, tugging experimentally on the operating bolt. The weapon clicks, chambering a round. "So we'll make a diversion, and give you guys time to figure it out." 

"What, just the two of — are you out of your mind?" 

McCoy looks from Kirk to Riker; the latter shrugs. "Best plan I've heard." 

"It's the — Commander," McCoy turns to look at Spock, "will you talk some sense into these idiots?" 

The other three turn to look at him expectantly. Spock is doing his best to follow the conversation, but it is hard to focus. McCoy may have been able to remove the bullet and heal the wound, but without access to medical facilities there is nothing he can do about the blood loss. Every six to eight seconds the vertigo returns and Spock's vision blurs; he has already passed combat command to Lieutenant Riker, so there is not much he can do about the fact that the man is in agreement with Kirk. "Unless you have an alternative, doctor — " 

"How about not sending the _cadet_ off to play bait!" 

"Spock's not exactly a hundred percent right now," Kirk interrupts. "No offence, Commander, but you look like shit — so he's going to need his copilot if we want half a chance of flying that thing, and they're going to need _you_ if anything happens before — " 

"And if something happens to _you?_ " 

"I'll be fine." Kirk pauses, eyes travelling from McCoy to Spock. The edge of his mouth curves. "I've survived worse." 

McCoy opens his mouth to argue further, but closes it when Page lays a hand on his shoulder. "This storm doesn't look like it's getting any better, and it's only a matter of time before they notice their prisoner is missing. We don't have time to discuss it." 

The doctor sighs and points a finger at Kirk. "You'd better be fine," he snaps. "You still owe me a bottle of Saurian brandy." 

Kirk smirks. "Bones, if we make it out of this, I'll buy you a fucking _case_." 

\+ 

Spock is shivering again. 

It is more irritating than arduous. McCoy has administered two injections via hypospray (one to combat hypothermia, one to assist in blood regeneration), but it is simply a stopgap. Spock's body is doing what it can to protect itself, but there is only so much that adrenaline can do. They do not have much choice except to wait for Kirk and Riker to put their plan into effect. 

The two men crept away eleven minutes and forty seconds ago. While McCoy perpetually tracks Spock's vitals on his tricorder, Page has kept the line open on her communicator. The transmission is still coarse, but understandable. He hears Kirk's " _Ready?_ " and Page looks at them both before answering: "As we'll ever be. And Kirk," she adds, "don't get shot." 

" _Roger that. Kirk out_." 

Ten point three seconds later, the western generator explodes. 

It has the desired effect; there is a collective shriek from the dozen or so creatures gathered around the aircraft. By the time the reverberations from the blast fade, Spock can hear the distant sound of shots being fired. Peering over the barrier, he observes the vast majority of the beings surging towards the diversion, and the bright and intermittent flashes of their weapons being fired. 

Page takes point, moving ahead of them swiftly and silently. She is able to disable two of the remaining guards before Spock and McCoy join her; Spock downs the third as it comes around behind the aircraft. Page spins around at the sound of his phaser, acknowledging them with a nod before climbing through the chopper's open side. 

Spock positions himself against the barricade around the aircraft, between the doctor and the diversion Kirk and Riker are staging to the west, phaser in hand. It appears the gunfire has mostly subsided, but it is impossible to be sure what their status is. Any details are obscured by the light of the fire and noise of the storm. 

"McCoy," Page's voice calls from inside the chopper, "see if you can get us unhooked, will you?" 

"I'm a doctor," McCoy shouts back, "not a goddamn electrician!" 

"You should be pretty well-practiced at pulling tubes out of things, then!" 

A grin briefly makes an appearance on McCoy's face before being replaced with its more typical scowl. "You know," he says, even as he abandons his weapon and begins to inspect the large coils connected to the aircraft's stern, "I've found I prefer sticking them in!" 

The motors overhead whine and rotate once before coming to a slow halt. "Tell you what," she calls, "if we make it out of here, maybe you can give me a personal demonstration." 

Sparks erupt from behind, but McCoy manages to disengage the first coil without injuring himself. "You buy me dinner first, Lieutenant, and then we'll talk!" 

"It's a — " 

The rest of her statement is lost under the noise of a second explosion, this time from the southern generator. Riker is running towards them with multiple figures in pursuit, and Kirk is nowhere to be seen. Spock manages to disable the closest just as the lieutenant slides to the ground and scrambles behind cover. Without pausing, Riker swings up beside him and opens fire, dropping two more attackers. 

As they both duck for cover from incoming fire, Riker says: "I got this, cover Kirk!" and points back to the west. 

Kirk is moving towards them across the open expanse. His weapon is raised and firing towards the south, so he is unaware of the figure approaching behind him. 

Spock does not have a clear shot with Kirk in the way, and Kirk does not appear to hear his shout of warning. There is no time for Spock to try his communicator; he begins to move when Kirk halts and spins around, backing out of the way, weapon trained on his shadow. 

It is smaller than the others, approximately two-thirds the adult height and almost a meter shorter than Kirk. The weapon is the same model McCoy is utilizing, and looks far too large for it. The two figures are backlit by the fire raging behind them, so Spock cannot see Kirk's expression — only that he has not yet pulled the trigger, and is slowly lowering his weapon. The adolescent seems likewise conflicted, the tip of its weapon faltering. 

There is a series of loud clicks, far too high frequency for Spock's human companions to hear. In the time it takes Spock to aim his phaser, the small being has raised its weapon again. 

Spock does not hesitate to pull the trigger. 

The scattergun still fires off a shot as the phaser bolt hits its target, and Kirk's shout is lost beneath a renewed explosion from the western generator. Spock has already started to move before the cadet hits the ground. When Spock reaches him, he is clutching his left thigh and his entire body is arching off the ground in pain. McCoy is by his side one point nine seconds later, and assists in dragging Kirk behind the barricade. Riker covers them as they pull Kirk in by his shoulders, depositing him on the ground beneath the chopper's blades. 

Safe behind cover, Spock checks their surroundings before turning back to assess the damage. McCoy has already torn away what remains of the legging beneath the wound, which at first glance appears grievous. The shot, diverted by Spock's own, has impacted Kirk's lower thigh and knee; all Spock can see is a lot of blood and exposed flesh. It is impossible for him to ascertain the amount of damage. 

The doctor is silent and focused as he scans the injury. Once the tricorder relays that there are no bone fractures, McCoy lifts the injured leg over his knees to elevate it. He ignores the cadet's grunt of pain and jams a hypospray into the thick muscle of Kirk's upper thigh. 

Kirk demonstrates the fact that he is still quite conscious by cursing loud enough for Spock to hear over the noise of the storm. McCoy continues to ignore him, directing Spock to hold the cadet still. As Spock moves to comply, McCoy rips open a pouch from his medkit with his teeth and dumps the entire contents into the wound. Pressure from one hand on Kirk's abdomen is sufficient to hold him down, but he is not prepared when Kirk's hand grabs his bare wrist and squeezes. 

The contact exposes Spock to a blinding flash of pain before he has a chance to shield himself from the brunt of it; he closes his eyes reflexively. He experiences a series of powerful blue phosphenes until he manages to dilute the incoming flood of distress. 

The hemostatic powder has settled when Spock opens his eyes, and McCoy is sealing the wound with a spray of silicon. He checks to make sure it has covered the area before re-calibrating the hypospray. He leans past Spock to inject it into Kirk's carotid artery. 

The powerful pulses of pain radiating up Spock's arm quickly dissolve. They are replaced with an emotional distress that he does not have time to contemplate before Kirk's grip on him tightens. Spock winces involuntarily as nails cut into the tender skin of his wrist. 

"You son of a bitch," Kirk snarls, struggling to sit up despite McCoy's protests. "What the hell were you — _he was just a_ — " 

Spock redoubles the pressure he is keeping on Kirk's stomach and shoves him back down, ignoring the bite of his nails. Kirk fights him, but Spock leans over him until Kirk's back connects with the ground, forcing the air from his lungs. "You must remain still. You have already lost approximately one liter of blood and — " 

"You didn't have to — " 

" _Jim_." The use of the cadet's given name has the desired effect of startling him into silence, and Spock takes advantage of it. "I only stunned him." 

Kirk stills, but he does not release Spock's wrist. The agitation Spock feels through the contact shifts into a confusing mix of surprise and relief. 

"If you two idiots are done having a confab," McCoy interrupts, "can we get the hell out of here now?" 

\+ 

"Not that we're in a rush or anything," McCoy says as he finishes securing Kirk to the floor of the confiscated aircraft, "but any time you're ready to get us the hell out of here, Lieutenant." 

He is not looking at the cockpit, but rather Kirk's hand, which still wrapped tightly around Spock's wrist. When Spock looks up, McCoy is watching him. 

"You wanna try driving this thing?" Page snaps, interrupting before Spock has a chance to say anything. She jabs an apparently random button on the console and there is a loud grinding noise. Zero point two seconds later, the generator in front of them shudders as a small incendiary makes impact and explodes. "Whoops." 

"Well, at least we know the weapons are operational," Riker says. He is crouched behind Spock, phaser in hand. His eyes are scanning the area, but whatever forces survived the diversion seem to have fled once they gained control of the chopper. Spock calculates it will not be long before they return with reinforcements, but he is unable to assist as the cockpit only seats one. Riker turns to look at Page when she kicks the console in frustration. "Would it help if I got out and pushed?" 

From the side, Spock can see the sharp edge of Page's grin. "It might." 

Spock has spent enough time in the company of Captain Pike to detect the undercurrent of sarcasm in their exchange. It continually puzzles him how Terrans use irony to deflect the serious nature of situations, but now is not the time to contemplate the phenomenon. 

Page shifts in her seat, one leg pushing forward on what appears to be a pedal. There is a distinct whine from the motors above, then nothing. She presses the pedal again, continuing the motion every point five seconds. 

"Ah-hah," she says. "It's a clutch!" She grips the lever positioned between her legs, swirling it in a circular motion before shifting it forward while continuing to pump the pedal with her leg. The motors overhead power up with a loud rush. "Everybody got their seatbacks and tray-tables in the upright and locked positions?" 

"Good to go," Riker answers, eyes still on the burning remains of the outpost. "Y'know, I don't want to tempt fate or anything, but I feel like this was almost too easy." 

"I beg to differ," McCoy snaps, "considering Jim's got a giant hole where his knee used to be." 

"I'm fine," Kirk insists, even as he winces. "He's right, though; they've probably got more of these antiques inbound, so we should — " 

An echoing roar from beyond the cliff drowns out the rest of his words. Out the opposite doorway beside McCoy, Spock can see the effervescent waters of the ocean begin to recede to reveal long, symmetrical planes of metal. Seafoam slides down the exterior of the object as it surfaces, waves frothing beneath as it rises from the water. 

The craft is immense. Spock estimates it to be fifty meters wide and twice as long, propelled by four sets of rotating blades at each corner. Water still cascades off the rough metal, turning to mist in the turbulent winds. A burst of lightning illuminates the cockpit located at the starboard and six cannons along the bow. They rotate slowly, silent under the tumult of the storm, until levelled directly at them. 

"Well," McCoy says, turning to look at Spock again, "it _was_ a good plan." 

Kirk is still holding onto his wrist — a long, deep roll of thunder obscures all other noise, but whatever words he wishes to say are unnecessary with the contact. Spock can feel the wave of hot defiance roll over the connection, while empyreal blue eyes stare at Spock, resolute. 

The distinct whine of warp engines drowns out the thunder, and the chopper shudders as pressure from the starship's atmospheric thrusters slams against it. 

Spock watches as each weapon barrel swings upwards to engage the _Hawking_. It no longer looks massive or threatening, dwarfed beneath the Federation vessel. Ten times its size, the starship casts the entire outpost in shadow from the network of rose-tinted lightning in the sky. 

The primitive weapons are ineffective against the ship's shields, exploding harmlessly before reaching their target. Spock never expected to feel relief at the sound of photon torpedoes being fired. 

The enemy craft shudders as the torpedoes hit, two precise shots disabling both starboard engines. They watch as the vessel dips under the impact, and spirals out of control towards the turbulent waters below. Dozens of choppers surge out of the caverns along the sea wall towards the starship in what Spock can only describe as suicide. Even as the _Hawking_ 's phasers engage the targets, dropping one after another, they continue to swarm. 

Spock starts when he feels a tug at his waist. Kirk has pulled his communicator off his belt with his free hand and flips it open. "About time, old man!" 

It is not the communications officer's voice that answers, but Pike's: " _Do I even need to ask if this is your fault?_ " 

Spock can only describe the warmth he feels through their contact as relief mixed with something he has never encountered before — it is an odd mix of titillating and a rather painful form of paresthesia. 

"Only if you want me to lie," Kirk returns. The last word comes out more of a grunt. "Any chance you can beam us out of this clusterfuck?" 

" _What, did you think your luck would start now?_ " The grimace on Kirk's face shifts into a grin. " _Where the hell is my First Officer?_ " 

Kirk rolls his eyes and passes over the communicator. "Captain," Spock says. 

" _There's a security team en-route to retrieve your shuttle, ETA ten minutes. You good until they swing around to pick you up?_ " 

Spock glances at the cramped interior of the craft; Page is looking over the back of the pilot seat, face smeared with dirt and blood; Riker is still standing guard by the door, providing cover fire; McCoy is beside Kirk, hands slick with blood and monitoring his vitals; Kirk himself has his closed his eyes and bared his teeth against the pain, his right hand clutching Spock so hard he is starting to cut off the circulation. Objectively, ten minutes is not a long period time, but under the circumstances — 

Page catches his gaze and seems to understand. She nods once before turning around and Spock hears the motors re-engage. 

" _Mister Spock?_ " 

"Captain, requesting direct access to shuttle bay via confiscated aircraft." 

" _Granted. Medical has a team on the way. We'll cover you. Pike out_." 

There is a chirp from his communicator to indicate the _Hawking_ has locked onto their signal. Page does not wait for the order — the craft is already lifting off, shuddering as she maneuvers it into the gale-force winds. Spock ducks as stray shots ricochet against the exterior. The only cover in the vehicle is in the cockpit itself, and he is not sure the hull is adequate protection against the projectiles. 

It certainly is not adequate protection against the other aircraft's explosive rounds. The moment Page directs the chopper into open air above the ocean, it becomes apparent that — enemy craft or not — the beings are not so easily fooled. Three of their choppers break off from the group engaging the _Hawking_ and swing around behind them. 

"Hang on!" Page calls. "This is going to get a little rough!" 

Spock redoubles his grip on the bar behind the cockpit just as the chopper jerks violently towards the north, turning the craft nearly on its side. McCoy is slammed into the wall beside the portside door. It is fortunate the doctor had the foresight to secure Kirk to the floor, because Spock is not certain he could have held onto him. The ocean is visible through the doorway as Page swings them around in a large arc towards the stern of the starship. 

The aircraft levels as she completes the evasive maneuver, then springs forward from the shock wave when two of their pursuing craft explode as _Hawking_ 's phasers find their targets. The motion shoves Riker against him, and Spock both hears and feels the overwhelming stab of pain as his leg connects with the cadet's. 

McCoy curses and adjusts his grip on the bulkhead. " _This_ ," he shouts, "is why I hate flying!" 

Their craft shudders again as the third chopper is destroyed, but the impact is dull. They have entered the starship's space, and are afforded the protection of its shields. Page's fingers flash across the alien control panels with remarkable precision. She manages to direct them through the open shuttle bay doors without further incident. 

"We're coming in a little fast, brace your — " 

The jolt of landing cuts her warning short. The chopper skids to a noisy halt, flooding the bay with an ear-piercing screech. Spock looks back to see the craft's serrated landing skids have left deep gouges in the floor. 

Riker is first to disembark, stowing his phaser and assisting McCoy in unloading Kirk, who is — inexplicably — still conscious. 

"Mother _fucker_ ," is what comes out of Kirk's mouth when he is loaded onto the waiting stretcher. Over the course of their association, Spock has noticed he uses vulgar language as a coping mechanism for a variety of situations. He adds pain to the list. 

"Oh, no you don't," McCoy snaps, turning to Spock once Kirk is being rushed to med bay. "You get one, too, Commander." 

Spock pulls himself to his feet, steadying himself against the chopper as a wave of dizziness overcomes him. "Doctor, I am more than capable of — " 

"When I want your medical opinion, Commander," the doctor interrupts, directing the medical team his way, "I'll give it to you." 

—~—

Spock can physically feel his mind shift out of its meditative state, his consciousness surfacing as subtle and sudden as water reaching its boiling point. When he opens his eyes, he is briefly blinded by the brightness of the white walls of the med bay. Glancing at a nearby vidscreen, he sees that he has been unconscious for four point nine hours. 

He is given leave to use the med bay sonic and is provided with a fresh uniform. Once both Doctors Laguardia and McCoy are satisfied that he is stable (confined to bedrest until his blood count has reached an acceptable level), they allow him use of a datapad to file a report on their mission. It takes one point two hours to complete, though a large section of it will require details from Lieutenant Riker. 

Captain Pike does not make an appearance until Kirk is out of surgery. The rest of the away team have already been cleared (Riker and Page had sustained only minor abrasions and were dismissed after regeneration was complete; McCoy is ordered to retire afterwards by his superior, despite his protests). Cadet Kirk, transferred to the biobed beside Spock's, has barely started to regain consciousness when the doors to med bay whisk open to reveal the captain. 

He waits patiently while Kirk groans and shifts, and seems briefly puzzled when he is unable to move his left leg. 

"Quit pulling at it," Doctor Laguardia orders, checking his vitals on the overhead. "We were able to remove the projectiles, but the damage to your knee was pretty extensive. You'll be wearing that for a couple of days." 

She indicates the portable regenerator attached to the afflicted joint. Kirk frowns at the device. "I don't have to stay in _here_ , do I?" 

"We'll see," Laguardia says. "You're lucky McCoy sealed the wound when he did. It should heal completely, as it is. You might be limping for a week, but no lasting damage." 

"Awesome," Kirk says, wincing as he attempts to sit up. He stills when he spots Pike. "I guess it's too late to pretend to still be asleep." 

"Oh, by all means," Pike says. "I'd hate to deprive McCoy the opportunity to come back down here and hypo your sorry ass into consciousness." He glances at Doctor Laguardia. "Give us a minute, Evita." 

She nods and departs without delay. Kirk sinks back onto the biobed with a sigh. "I assume you've gotten the debriefs?" 

"About how you blatantly disregarded basic protocol for an unpredicted hostile encounter?" 

"Uh," Kirk says, glancing briefly at Spock. "I think I'm on way too many painkillers to properly defend my actions here, sir." 

"Says the kid who — after _six_ shots of tequila, if I remember correctly — formulated that sling-shotting around a G-type star at warp nine could theoretically induce time-travel," Pike counters, placing his hands on his hips and regarding Kirk with a raised eyebrow. "And then proceeded to prove it on a bar napkin." 

"Well," Kirk says, dragging out the word, "not exactly _prove_. I couldn't account for the effects on organic life at such high speeds, because they — " 

"Would be cataclysmic," Spock interrupts, "as we have already discussed at length." 

" _In theory_. It's a different equation entirely. I mean, you have to add in the gravitational force of the star itself and it has nothing to do with bending space — " 

"No, it has to do with defying the much more temperamental dimension of time," Spock counters. "Something we have studied for centuries, and the Vulcan Science Directory has deemed impossible. And," he adds, before Kirk can argue further, "even if it _were_ possible, one could make the argument that doing so could have paradoxical effects on the space-time continuum." 

"So basically you're saying I'm wrong, but if I try to prove otherwise, it would break the universe?" Kirk rolls his eyes. "That's convenient. You know, zealots like to make the same argument about God. So unless we take this baby for a spin — " he pauses to glance at Pike and add, "which I totally support, by the way — " 

"The whiplash effect alone could destroy the ship itself, never mind the crew. I believe the captain would agree, the risks of such a maneuver outweigh the scientific benefit of — " 

Pike interrupts the discussion by loudly clearing his throat, as if to remind them that there are more important matters to discuss. Spock can feel the rush of blood in his cheeks, but Pike merely says: "As much as I am loath to throw a wrench in your potentially universe-ending science experiment, we're on impulse power only for the next forty-eight." 

At Kirk's look of surprise, Pike goes on to explain, "What, did you think this ship was built to handle maintaining a low-altitude fire fight in the middle of an electrical storm? The blowback from the thrusters caused a crack the outer core wall. We're stuck in orbit until repairs are finished." Without giving the cadet time to reply, he returns his attention to Spock. "I read Riker's report. He seems to have skimmed over the part on the decision-making that led to invading an unknown, clearly hostile outpost full of aggressive life-forms. I don't suppose you have any light to shine on the subject." 

Before Spock has a chance to point out he was incapacitated at the time and does wish to speculate, Kirk blurts out: "They _shot him_." 

"And then they shot _you_ ," Pike returns. "Are you out of your mind? Do you have _any_ idea — " 

"Sir," Kirk interrupts, "all due respect, but whether or not I violated the formal chain of command isn't really the issue." 

Pike blinks. "Oh, I'd love to hear how you came to _that_ conclusion." 

"Well, technically, with the Commander down — " 

"Riker was next in command," Pike interjects. 

" — well, _technically_ , but he wasn't there when Spock got shot, which was my fault anyway — " 

"You were _my_ responsibility," Spock interrupts. "Therefore any assignment of fault — " 

" — is _beside_ the point I'm trying to make here," Kirk says over him. He shifts under Pike's scrutinizing gaze and then winces, fingers clawing at the gown over his injured leg. "Which is that, all things considered, I think we did okay." 

"'Okay' is not a suitable adjective," Spock points out, "as it has variable definitions." 

"How about _'awesome'_?" Kirk's grin is short-lived when Pike folds his arms over his chest. "Okay, look: even _if_ we'd made it back to the shuttle — and really, I'm pretty sure the only reason they lost us is because they didn't think we'd be crazy enough to follow them — what the hell was I supposed to do? Tell you I'd lost your First Officer to a bunch of killer fish-people armed with rudimentary weapons?" 

"While the cadet may have breached protocol," Spock adds, undeterred when Pike turns his his gaze his direction, "he was merely displaying those attributes that you yourself recognized and wished to hone — " 

"Yeah, and that," Kirk agrees. "'I dare you to do better _'_ , remember? So — _technically_ — if you want someone to blame, this is all _your_ fault." 

There is a pause of two point three seconds in which Pike stares at them both in turn, apparently at a loss for words. 

"The cadet makes a valid point," Spock admits. "And despite his total disregard of authority and basic procedure, the outcome is, overall, favorable." 

"Uh," Kirk begins, hesitating when Pike raises an eyebrow. "I mean. _Respectfully_ your fault. Sir. And — " 

Kirk quiets immediately when Pike holds up a hand for silence. He has been following the conversation without bothering to disguise his incredulity, his gaze shifting back and forth as they synchronously alternated between supporting and arguing each other's points. Now he lets out an exaggerated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index fingers. 

"I realize I did this to myself," he says, raising his eyes to the ceiling, "but it still hurts." 

—~—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * _would it helped if I got out and pushed?_ \- obligatory Star Wars reference, because it was appropriate :D
> 
> Thanks again to the amazing atonau and Shan for their stellar work at transforming my literary diarrhea into something fit for public consumption.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life aboard a starship seems to include entirely too many informal discussions, inappropriate thoughts, and completely illogical physiological reactions. And land-sharks notwithstanding, Pike's pretty sure he's going to be reduced to a crater once they get back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major thanks again to **Atonau** and **Shan** , who not only both had horribly exhausting weeks and still managed to get this back to me anyway in time for posting today, but helped me fine-tune the hardest part of this chapter into something I'm genuinely pleased with.

**Part V**

—~—

**2257.206**

"Checkmate."

Spock evaluates the 3-D chessboard. He is perturbed to realize that Kirk is correct. "Your method is most unusual, Cadet," he concedes, tipping over his king for the third time in a row, "but effective."

Kirk flops gracelessly back against the biobed. He is still dressed in his medical gown, bare legs and feet hanging carelessly over the edge. His injured knee is a swollen collage of angry reds, purples and blues crisscrossed with the fading lines of laser sutures and the thin exoskeleton of a portable regenerator. "So I'm 'Cadet' again, huh?"

"Unless you received a promotion I am unaware of — "

"What I meant," Kirk interrupts, sitting up on his elbows, "is that you could just call me 'Jim'."

"That would be highly inappropriate given the nature of our professional relationship."

"And me crashing on your couch isn't?" When Spock looks up at this, and Kirk grins. "Even _Pike_ calls me Jim."

Spock is saved having to reply by the arrival of Lieutenants Page, Riker, and McCoy for their routine follow-up exams. The latter immediately shifts course in lieu of this to inspect the cadet's — _Jim's_ — vitals on the overhead. He scowls. "You didn't sleep."

Jim rolls his eyes. "I had a four hour nap in surgery."

"How many times do I have to explain the difference between sleep and unconsciousness to you?" He glances at the 3-D chessboard, then at Spock. "That goes for you, too, Commander. Vulcan or not, bodies require _rest_ to heal."

"It would be easier for me to rest in my own quarters, Doctor."

"Dammit, man, you can't — "

"No, Bones, he's right," Jim interrupts. "It's too cold in here. Too bright, too. And somebody had to keep him company."

"I can quite adequately entertain myself," Spock says.

"Yeah, well," Jim says, shrugging, "kicking your ass at chess was way more fun than sleeping."

"I think it would be fine to allow you both to return to your personal quarters." McCoy looks up as Laguardia comes over and opens his mouth to no doubt argue with this assessment, but she silences him with a sharp look. It seems that Kirk is not the only cadet in need of reminders that he is, among other things, a subordinate onboard this ship. "As long as you keep the regenerator on, and restrict movement to only what's necessary."

"The only way to do that is to strap him to the damn bed," McCoy says.

"I think confinement to quarters will suffice," Laguardia decides, directing her gaze to McCoy again as if anticipating another challenge before looking back at Jim. "I'll see that you get an increase in water rations; a hot shower every day'll help with the swelling, but otherwise keep it on, or else your body will try healing on its own and that limp will become permanent. Got it?"

Without waiting for a response, she turns her attention to Spock. "You're good to go, Commander, but I'm putting you on an extra day of leave just to be safe. And no," she adds quickly, before Spock can get a word out, "you don't get a say in that decision. I'm aware Vulcan physiology allows for accelerated healing, but since we're stuck in orbit anyway there's no dire need for you to be on the bridge. Check in tomorrow during Alpha and if your vitals are holding steady, then we'll talk. In the meantime, you can both quit cluttering up my medical bay and go get some proper rest."

Kirk and McCoy watch her go with identical bemused expressions, mouths slightly agape.

"That's kind of creepy," Jim says eventually. "It's like seeing what you would've been, born with two X-chromosomes." McCoy's mouth snaps shut as he turns to glare at his companion, but Jim grins and adds: "Only, you know. Hotter."

—~—

**2257.207**

Declared fit for duty, Spock reports for his shift the next day alone. He left Kirk sleeping on the sofa, clearly still under the influence of the loaded hypospray McCoy administered the night before when they both reported to med bay for follow-up. Most of the day is spent off the bridge, overseeing repairs in Engineering and composing a communique to Command regarding the updated status of Uron IV.

When Spock returns to his quarters at 2132 hours, he finds Kirk covered in sweat and dressed in nothing but regulation shorts. He is holding himself face-up and horizontal, balancing all of his weight rather precariously with both hands on the edge of the desk. It is, strictly speaking, the sort of exercise one should reserve for the ship's fitness center, but he is still on ordered confinement to quarters due to his injury.

At a glance, his injured leg appears to be healed, but upon closer inspection it is possible to see the fading hematomas and slight tremor in the extremity as Jim pushes himself up, his jaw clamped tight as his elbows straighten. The superficial damage is simple to fix; the complex network of tendons are what will take the majority of the week to heal, but only if he actually wears the portable regenerator.

"I believe the stipulation on allowing you to leave the medical bay," Spock says carefully, conscious of the strain the cadet is under performing such a maneuver, "was leaving the regenerator on at all times."

Jim lowers himself slowly, wincing as his weight shifts from his arms to his legs. He exhales, resting his weight against the desk and wiping his forehead with the back of one hand. "It slipped off when I started sweating."

"Perhaps you should save exercising for when you are healed."

"PT helps with the healing. Even Bones would back me up on that." He pauses, inspecting himself and wrinkling his nose. "Um, d'you mind if I...?" He jerks his head towards the refresher instead of finishing his question.

Spock does not mind, and moves aside to allow him access — and barely reacts in time when Jim stumbles on his third step, one hand catching him by the upper arm. He is not too heavy for Spock to support, but it is the first direct physical contact they have had since the incident on Uron IV. Spock is finding that by simply occupying the same proximity he is more highly aware of Jim's presence than he is comfortable with; having any direct contact is becoming a very odd form of psychological torment.

Jim curses, his free hand reaching out to grip the edge of the desk. Spock, unprepared for the contact, is assaulted with a wave of what he can only identify as — surprisingly enough — insecurity. "Sorry."

Spock makes sure the cadet is steady before releasing him. "I would forego removing the regenerator until you are able to support your own weight."

"Yeah, yeah, _Bones_ ," Jim says, stepping much more carefully around the desk. "I'll put it back on, all right? Shower first, though."

Spock watches him go, then sits himself at the desk with the intention of recording a log of the day's activities. It is something Kirk would be doing, had he been able to accompany Spock throughout the day. Furthermore, Spock needs to upload the recordings from his translator for further analysis — Cadet Uhura and her superior are already analyzing what recordings they have of the Uronian language. There is also the task of deciphering the probe's data to determine if it reactivated on its own (perhaps due to the electrical storms) or if the Uronians discovered the device themselves.

Eight minutes and forty-three seconds later he has accomplished none of these things. He can hear the shower start up in the refresher; Jim has opted for water rather than a sonic. Which is logical, as the hot water will reduce the swelling around his injury. It also, however, increases the length of the ordeal as well as provides a slick environment that could result in another fall.

Spock finds himself sitting idly, listening to the sound of the water running. He hopes another fall will not occur, for he would have to page Medical (McCoy specifically, as requested) in addition to entering the refresher and ensuring Jim did not suffer a head injury. Which would require attending to the cadet as he was, which —

Spock exhales sharply, causing his nostrils to flare. These thoughts were, at best, unproductive and, at worst, entirely inappropriate.

Unfortunately, his physiology does not seem to care. Embracing logic and exerting control over one's base emotions and the reactions they produced is a life-long endeavor, and by Vulcan standards, Spock is still extremely young. Combined with his mixed heritage, it is a rational conclusion that mastering control over his instinctual impulses will be more arduous than it would be for his purebred peers.

The fact that it is completely rational does not hinder the violent wave of irritation he is assaulted with as a result.

Spock is rescued from his thoughts when the intercom beeps and Captain Pike requests his presence when convenient. Grateful for the distraction, Spock enters the captain's personal quarters one point seven minutes later.

"That was quick," Pike says without looking up.

"I was not otherwise occupied," Spock explains. It is technically not a lie.

Pike does look up at that, one eyebrow arched. "You're not nearly as good a liar as you think you are, Commander." Spock experiences a brief flare of annoyance in the face of the man's uncanny perceptiveness; he opens his mouth to refute that statement, but Pike waves a hand to silence him before he can begin. "Nevermind. I probably don't want to know."

Spock decides that Pike is correct; he most definitely does not wish to know the details. "I take it you have received a response from Headquarters?"

"In a manner of speaking." He sighs and sits back, propping his feet on top of the desk. "They're 'in the process of reviewing the report',' which basically means 'we're going to bury it'. Considering nobody died," he adds, with a suggestive look at Spock, "as far as they're concerned, it isn't that big of a deal. We investigated following _their_ protocol; how the hell were we supposed to know there was a colony of sentient lifeforms hiding in the ocean that like to blow shit up?"

"Indeed," Spock agrees. "I assume, then, that there will be no formal reprimand?"

"Formally? No," Pike says, though he does not appear pleased with this. "Officially, it's been filed under the 'Shit Happens' clause. But Laura's been CC'd on the debrief, and if Jim thinks he's off the hook he's got another thing coming."

Spock does not bother to point out that there is not, to his knowledge, such a clause; it is besides the point. He is pleased that Pike intends to engage in further discussion with Kirk on the matter, for it is obvious the cadet does not realize how serious his breach of protocol was.

"Anyway," Pike goes on, "the _Greene_ 's on her way to set up a preliminary observation post, and Nadir says they can spare a couple dilithium crystals to tide us over until we can restore the warp coils to peak capacity back at Earthdock. In light of the damage, Command's finally approved the repairs."

"Captain Garrovick will be pleased to hear it."

"Yeah, once she's done screaming long enough to listen," Pike says, rolling his eyes. "But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about. Unless we want to try and employ Kirk's crazy idea about time-travel, we're going to need to make some severe adjustments for our return course, because we still have to be back at Earthdock by — "

He is interrupted by the insistent ping on the intercom, signalling an urgent incoming video call. Pike glances at the vidscreen and groans. "This might take a while," he says, moving his feet back to the floor and sitting up. "I'll swing by when I'm done being castrated."

Spock blinks but decides not ask for clarification, simply nods and goes to take his leave. He pauses outside the open door when Pike calls, "And feel free to accidentally drop something heavy on that kid's knee for me."

A crisp, female voice snaps " _I'll be gentle with her, huh?_ " just before the door slides neatly closed.

+

Returning to his own quarters, Spock finds Kirk sitting on the sofa and cursing at the regenerator.

He is, thankfully, dressed, wearing a standard-issue shirt and matching shorts, damp hair brushed back in a disarray of spikes. He has his injured leg held out straight before him and is attempting to fit the three straps around his thigh and knee joint; the device blinks red and lets out an unpleasant buzz to indicate it is not aligned properly.

"Shall I page McCoy?" Spock asks, moving to the desk to sync his PADD with the terminal.

"Spare me," Jim answers, trapping his tongue between his teeth as he tries and once again fails to adhere the device to his leg. "Really not in the mood for another lecture."

While McCoy could have the device attached in seconds, Spock does concede the man enjoys to talk, especially in the case of reprimanding his companion. The visit would likely take thirty minutes or more, and Spock has had enough distractions this evening. He reaches into the first aid kit by the desk before moving over to the sofa.

"Hey, what — " Jim blinks when Spock kneels down before him, taking hold of the regenerator and pulling it away. "Are you — "

"I am perfectly qualified," Spock assures him. "Certainly more than you." He untangles the straps carefully and resets the device. "You must bend the joint," he informs the cadet. "That is why you are encountering difficulties."

Jim's eyebrows contract as he shifts, attempting to pull his calf in. "Yeah, well, easier said than done when half your tendons are shredded."

He starts when, overtaken by impatience, Spock abandons the regenerator and — gently — seizes his ankle in one hand and assists him. Jim's entire leg tremors in his grip, and despite his shields, Spock winces in sympathy. "You are in pain," he observes, pausing to pick up the hypospray he retrieved.

Jim's eyes widen when he sees the device and he instinctively tries to pull away. "I'm — "

"Silence," Spock orders, attempting to focus despite the feedback. Jim tenses, closing his eyes, but he is unable to do much beyond verbally protest. The turbulent mix of pain and uncertainty is dizzying. Spock aligns the hypospray with care, administering the pre-calibrated narcotic to Jim's bare thigh, directly into the femoral artery.

The cadet cracks an eye open when Spock puts the hypospray aside; he closes it again when Spock runs the pad of his thumb over the artery to soothe it from the injection. The skin of Jim's inner thigh is hot under his touch and dusted with a soft hairs; warmer than usual, Spock notes — still retaining heat from the shower. The cadet's accelerated heartbeat pulses under his light touch.

"Uh, thanks," Jim blurts out; Spock looks up to see him bite his bottom lip briefly. "Bones is kind of a dick with those. Takes some sort of sadistic joy in stabbing me with them. Like I've done something to deserve it. And — look, okay, I know I'm not the easiest person to live with, but it was _his_ idea to get a place. We're both a little too old to shack up with recruits in Academy housing without going completely batshit. But you'd think with him being a doctor and all he'd have a less painful way of exacting retribution for — whatever the fuck it is I've done to piss him off. Which seems to be everything, really. Eating. Brushing my teeth. Breathing. Occupying space."

He pauses to inhale when Spock draws his thumb over his skin again. It occurs to him that, in contrast with the last time Spock had to assist him, the cadet is rambling to distract them both; Kirk has never asked how much information Spock can glean from a touch, but perhaps he is more perceptive than Spock has given him credit for. Spock tactfully ignores the undercurrent of arousal, willing his own body to follow suit.

It is more difficult than he anticipated. He has never had to share such intimate contact with someone he is not... intimate with.

"I mean, the whole point of a hypo — besides the contamination issue, anyway — is it's supposed to be noninvasive, right?" Jim blathers on. "But I swear the bastard manages to leave a bruise every damn time."

"I am sure, despite his complaints, he prefers you breathing," Spock informs him. Jim does indeed breathe, hot breath spilling out so quickly Spock doubts his alveoli have had a chance to procure sufficient oxygen. Spock cups his hand around the soft skin underneath the cadet's knee and placing the other around the thin bones of his ankle. "It would be beneficial for you to relax for this."

Jim still braces unnecessarily, hands fisting against the cushions of the sofa when Spock gently arranges the limb to a one-hundred twenty degree angle. He is no longer in pain, but through the contact Spock deciphers his discomfort is more due to a mixture of the intimacy of the touch and knismesis. He tightens his grip, and can feel the cadet relax a fraction as Spock shifts the hand on his ankle to collect the regenerator.

He has just attached the final strap around Kirk's mid-thigh when the door intercom breaks the silence. "Enter," Spock calls without looking away. The door opens with a hiss; through their contact, Jim’s trepidation assaults Spock like a jolt of electricity.

When Spock looks up, Pike is standing just inside the door, one eyebrow raised. "Let me guess," he says slowly, eyes falling on Jim, "this is the part where you tell me it isn't what it looks like?"

Jim flushes, red blooming beneath his skin from his collar to his cheekbones, but he grins and the trepidation dissipates. "Nah, this is totally what it looks like."

What it looks like is exactly what it is, so Spock does not understand why Pike raises his eyes to the ceiling to murmur "Grant me the patience..." before exhaling heavily and stepping up to the desk. On it, he places a large, rectangular bottle of some amber-colored liquid Spock assumes to be alcohol.

Something like hesitation is tickling Spock's fingertips. He looks back at Jim, and sees he is biting at his lower lip again. "So... I'm good, yeah?"

Spock lets go of him immediately and stands. "I would not remove it again until the regeneration is complete," he advises.

"Yeah," Jim agrees. He attempts to flex the joint, fingers digging into the flesh that Spock's hands rested on moments before. Belatedly, he adds: "Thanks."

"Jesus," Pike says, calling Spock's attention back to him. He runs his fingers over his forehead and through his hair, wincing. "How the hell do you stand it in here?" he asks Jim. "It's like a goddamn oven." He glances at Spock. "And likewise, how the hell do you stand it _not_ in here?"

"I have been on Earth for four point six years," Spock points out. "I have grown accustomed to Terran temperatures."

"And I sleep in the nude," Kirk chimes in, grinning broadly at the horrified look that garners from Pike. "If you think this is bad, you should spend some time on Tarsus. Summers there make Vulcan seem like a nice place to go cool off."

Spock and Pike exchange a glance at the rather flippant mention of Tarsus; Pike searching — and no doubt finding — evidence in his expression that he has knowledge of Kirk's experience there.

Jim coughs at the awkward pause, shifting on the sofa, eyes focusing on the bottle on the desk. "So... what is this? PTSD scotch treatment, or something?"

"Or something," Pike says. "Here." He tosses his PADD to Kirk. "Just because you're bedbound doesn't mean you can't be useful."

"Careful," Jim says, catching the PADD without pause, "if Bones finds out you're putting me to work when I'm off-duty, he's going to pull rank."

"If you want a ship of your own someday, you'd best get used to the idea that there's no such thing as _off-duty_ ," Pike replies. He motions at the computer terminal, which is displaying the near-completed schematic of Kirk's ship. "She finished?"

"Almost. I still have to finalize the emergency response and life-support systems, and — "

"She looks good," Pike interrupts. "And you'll have plenty of time for that, sitting on your ass the next few days. But tonight put that brain of yours to use reorganizing the crew quarters for the last week of our run. We need to squeeze in another dozen stowaways."

At Spock's inquisitive look, he explains: "That's what I was getting to before we were rudely interrupted. We're swinging by Vulcan on our way back; there's a group of fellows finishing up their medical internships that need a ride home."

Kirk raises an eyebrow at this information. "Can't we just stuff them in the Jefferies tubes with some sleeping bags?"

"If only," Pike says, smirking. "Though if we're operating under seniority, it'll be your fellow cadets camping out in the access tunnels. As much as I'm sure McCoy'll _love_ to hear who is responsible for that, you've already sustained the maximum amount of injuries I've allotted you for this mission."

Kirk laughs at that and swipes at the datapad. "Challenge accepted."

"And while we're there," Pike continues, leaning against the desk and turning to Spock, "we're giving your parents a ride back to Earth, too. Apparently they've been asked to attend the annual symposium."

In his peripheral vision, Spock sees Jim's eyes flicker to him before turning back to his assignment. "I would offer my own quarters — " he begins.

"Already taken care of," Pike says, waving him off. "Commander Ollex has some leave due and is spending it doing some research at the Science Academy." He rolls his eyes, as if he cannot understand why this would be a suitable activity to pursue during one's personal leave. "Assuming the rest of our drops go off without a hitch, we can afford to dock for the day. And no," he says, the moment Spock opens his mouth to speak, " _I_ will be staying onboard to babysit the ship, and ordering you to spend some time dirtside."

Before Spock can point out he had every intention of requesting the opportunity, Kirk says, "Got it."

He tosses the PADD back to Pike, who barely catches it in time. "If they're anything like Bones, they won't mind doubling up," he explains, "and I just shifted half a dozen ensigns on rotating shifts to share quarters. You should double-check it to make sure none of them hate each other, but..." he shrugs instead of finishing his sentence, and glances at Spock before looking back at Pike. "Vulcan, huh?"

"Never been?" Pike asks, scrolling through the adjustments Kirk made before sending the order through.

"Never had a reason," Kirk says, shrugging again. "Do we get to — "

"If you promise to behave," Pike says, placing the PADD on the desk. "Which actually brings me to my next point." He glances at Spock. "I'm sure you've better things to be doing, Commander."

Spock recognizes the dismissal and nods. He glances at Kirk just in time to see the cadet wince, and then retires to his sleeping chambers. He is grateful for the excuse; it has been seventy-five hours since his last meditation, not including the time he spent recovering his wounds. His mind is weary.

Four minutes and sixteen seconds later, Spock abandons his attempts to clear his mind and meditate. Firstly, it is difficult to tune out the low murmur of voices from the adjacent room; while Pike and Kirk may be speaking quietly, the captain must know that Spock will be able to hear them. His superior hearing makes it possible for him to discern not only the nature of the conversation, but the precise words.

Perhaps Captain Pike only meant to give Kirk the illusion of privacy, or wished to avoid another three-sided discussion like the one that had occurred in med bay.

The other complication is one Spock is futility trying to avoid acknowledging. It is possible that the trepidation Jim felt earlier is simply lingering, wound tight inside Spock's own subconscious. It vibrates like a plucked string on a harp, resonating unpleasantly beneath his skin.

" — could've brought down the whole damn ship," Pike is saying. His tone is light, but Spock does not need to see his expression to be aware of the cold severity of his words. As much as he tries to ignore it, he can _feel_ the effect it has on Jim.

"I couldn't leave him behind. Not when there was a chance — "

"He wasn't your responsibility. You were _his_. He did his job and I did mine. But I've got four-hundred other responsibilities in here to think about — and if you ever want a command of your own, you need to realize that. Because next time, Jim — I will leave your sorry ass behind."

Following that sentiment is silence. The emotional response is far more uncomfortable than the conversation preceding it, seeping under Spock's skin like a cold saline solution and causing an involuntary shiver. The quiet stretches so long that Spock would assume Pike had left, but he has not heard the outer door open.

"On the bright side," Pike goes on to say, "McCoy's earned himself a commendation."

There is a faint noise Spock suspects is Jim giving a derisive snort. "Oh, he'll love that; getting an award for doing his job ' _because you idiots nearly got yourselves blown to hell_.'"

Pike laughs, and the icy feeling beneath Spock's skin dissipates. "Almost verbatim. And I know you haven't thanked him yet, but you better damn well. If he hadn't saved that leg, you'd be kissing your command dream goodbye."

Spock tries once again to concentrate on meditation now that their conversation has moved onto safer topics. The voices fade out, the occasional laughter becoming dull reverberations in the background.

He is moments from entering trance when he hears the door to his quarters open, and Kirk's voice calls out: "Chris."

It is the use of Pike's given name that jars Spock out of his contemplation, forcing his attention.

There is a beat of pause, then: "Thanks for coming to get us."

"Yeah, well," Pike says, his voice distant, "it was either that, or give Number One that kid she's been angling for. She needs someone to spoil over the holidays."

Jim laughs this time. "And hey, if you want to leave that bottle — "

"In your dreams, kid."

After the outer door closes, Spock can hear Jim tell the computer to power down the holodesk and turn off the lights. The following silence is penetrating, but Spock does not need to go and check to know that Jim has not fallen asleep. The cadet's unease has created an aura, one Spock is troubled to note he should not be able to sense from this distance. With disquiet, he abandons the mat and moves to the bed.

He spends the night lying awake, with the uncomfortable knowledge that Jim does not sleep either.

—~—

**2257.210**

The _USS Greene_ arrives four hours before their repairs are scheduled to be completed. The original assessment of forty-eight hours was, at best, optimistic — once the crack in the core had been contained, further damage to the warp coil had been revealed. The _Greene_ 's timely arrive is convenient, in that it will afford them enough time to transfer over the two replacement dilithium crystals and entertain the ship's captain while they are installed.

"Murderous amphibians, huh?" Captain Nadir says by way of greeting as he disembarks the shuttle.

He is human, though more slightly built than is usual for Terran males. His skin is a dark olive complexion typical of humans from the region of Earth known as the Middle East, and his accent is thick but understandable. He takes Pike's outstretched hand in his own, gripping it firmly and giving one shake before releasing it. He starts to offer his hand to Spock, and stops when he looks at him properly, perhaps comprehending the inappropriateness of the gesture to a Vulcan. Spock salutes instead; Nadir nods, obviously relieved to be offered an alternative.

"I do not believe amphibious is the proper classification," Spock admits as they begin the short journey to the turbolift. "The species appears too active to be ectothermic. They seem to more closely resemble the Terran class Cetaceamorpha, in that — "

"Landsharks," Pike summarizes as they wait for the lift.

"Sharks are classified as Chondrichthyes," Spock corrects. "The Uronians utilize oral and nasal cavities for respiratory functions, which indicates — "

" — that they're landsharks," Pike finishes, nodding at a handful of saluting ensigns that quickly pile out of the lift so the three of them can enter. "Land-dolphins, if you want to argue semantics. Really angry ones. With opposable thumbs and automatic weapons."

Spock tilts his head in agreement; he cannot argue that the species is extremely hostile. However, it is possible they perceived the landing team as a threat. "We did invade their planet."

"Unintentionally," Pike adds. "Outright execution for stepping on someone else's turf is a little harsh, wouldn't you agree?"

Spock thinks it may simply be that they have finally discovered a xenobeing more territorial than Terrans, but decides not to voice this opinion given his current company. "To us, perhaps. It is impossible to form an educated hypothesis without further information about their culture."

"And then there's always the chance," Nadir offers, "they heard how we wiped out half the marine mammals on our planet before we got our shit together."

Pike smirks as the lift doors whisk open. "In that case," he says, stepping out, "maybe we deserved it."

+

As the _Greene_ will be taking over assessment of Uron IV, it is necessary to transfer over whatever data the _Hawking_ ’s science departments have compiled before departure. Given leave to organize what little they have, Spock returns to his quarters to assemble the information packet. He has already received the xenological report, having assisted in its compilation, but is still awaiting the analysis from Communications.

His quarters are quiet; Kirk has been spending several hours each afternoon in physical therapy before McCoy has to report for his shift, and Spock is so used to his presence that even after three days, he still finds the lack of company jarring. Jim is no longer wearing the regenerator, but there is still a pronounced limp in his gait — something that McCoy has assured him will resolve, provided he maintains a proper balance of rest and exercise.

Spock decides to take advantage of the lack of distraction, ignoring the odd, rather tender sensation he has come to associate with Jim being physically absent.

Cadet Uhura arrives at his quarters twenty-five point three minutes later, clutching a pile of datapads to her chest.

"Hi," she says, with a bright smile. She does not bother to salute as he grants her access. Given that they are alone, he does not comment on her lack of formality. "Sorry it's so late. We got a little carried away; I really wish we had another day to spend on this. We haven't seen a sentient species utilize pulse sounds before — above water, anyway. The dense atmosphere is really unique because — "

"It affords them the ability to map their surroundings even when visibility is low," Spock agrees. "However, the electrical interference — "

"Exactly! Check it out." She juggles through the datapads briefly before selecting one, seemingly at random, and thrusts it under his nose.

Spock uploads the data to the vidscreen, and the computer brings up a 3-D display of the analyzed recordings. While the _Hawking_ flew down to intercept their attackers, the ship's sensors had mapped the area, creating a topographical rendering of the encampment. The pressure waves created by the thunder fill the screen in bright bursts of yellow, orange and red.

"That thunder saved your sorry asses," Uhura says, beaming. "Outside of the water, the sound waves caused by the storm threw off their ability to perceive you in the dark. Had it been clear, they would have known exactly where you were."

"I am sure Kirk's diversion aided as well," Spock admits, experiencing a strange urge to frown. "He still managed to get injured, however."

"Yeah, well, that was close-range," Uhura says, reasonably. "They've got large eyes, so they're not blind, just not exclusively adapted to terrestrial habitats. Xenology estimates they've only been spending a significant percentage of their time above water for the past few hundred years." She smiles again; it is, Spock has to admit, a pleasant expression. "My CO's looking forward to playing a few recordings to some bottlenose dolphins when we get back planetside. She thinks — "

While he compiles the data, Uhura offers a constant stream of conversation at his shoulder. Spock is pleased with her enthusiasm, both professionally and personally; the language analysis, while largely incomplete and not unique, is rare enough in sentient species that Spock also wishes they had more time to spend in orbit, studying the civilization.

It is not until Kirk returns that he becomes aware of how much time has passed. Spock had given him the override code once it became apparent Jim had no intentions of sleeping anywhere other than his office sofa, so there is no warning before the door whisks open.

The cadet stops short when he sees Uhura. "You could've left a sock on the doorknob," he says.

He is smiling, but something about his expression unsettles Spock; there is a sharpness in his look that contradicts the gesture his mouth is making.

Before Spock can ask for clarification (Jim is aware the door does not feature a knob or handle, and the symbolism of the sock eludes him), Uhura exhales sharply, hot breath expelling over Spock's ear and causing an involuntary shudder. "I figured Leonard would know to chain you to the bed by now."

"He's not really into bondage," Jim says, as he makes his way past them towards the refresher. He is still limping, but it is barely discernible. The hardness of his gaze betrays his nonchalant tone of voice before he shutters it, replacing the flicker of discontent with a bright smile. "But you can chain me to a bed any time you like, sweetheart," he adds with an exaggerated wink.

"And to think," she says in a thoughtful voice; Spock glances at her as she stands, and is confused to see her smiling, "a few inches higher, and the Uronians could have spared us all a lot of trouble."

Jim disappears as the refresher door whisks closed behind him, cutting off his laughter.

"God," Uhura says, once they are alone again. "How do you stand him all day, every day?"

She moves the surplus PADDs to clear the corner of the desk before turning around and heaving herself onto it. She crosses her arms and legs, feet swinging gently over the floor beside his chair. Spock wonders if it is perhaps a trait of young Terrans to use work surfaces as places to sit.

"He is tolerable company," Spock affirms. "Though I must confess, it evades my understanding why you have not yet filed a complaint against him citing sexual harassment."

She blinks, turning her head down to meet his gaze. "I am more than capable of taking care of myself, Commander."

"I did not mean to imply you are not, simply that — "

"I know what you meant." She pauses again, then shrugs. "I can handle Kirk. What's your excuse?"

He tilts his head in question. "I do not understand."

"I figured if anyone could find the end to your patience, it'd be him."

"He is passionate," Spock agrees, "but our idle conversation is generally amiable. Most of our discussions revolve around his studies."

"Or more likely," she says, glancing at the refresher door, "you don't realize when you're being hit on."

Spock furrows his brow. "Please clarify."

"Nevermind," she says, and nods at the terminal. "Have you got everything you need?"

It takes a further fifteen minutes to organize the data. Uhura busies herself with one of the datapads, filling the room with the variable clicks and whistles from the Uronians. She attempts to imitate a few herself, with only marginal success, but it is still an impressive feat with human vocal chords.

By the time Spock has checked the final packet over, the shower in the refresher switches off. He compresses the file and transfers it onto a PADD that he will turn over to Captain Nadir once repairs are complete and they are ready to resume their voyage. "I believe this will suffice. Thank you, Cadet."

"Nyota," she corrects with a smile. "How many times — "

"Nyota, huh?" Jim says, as the door to the refresher slides open. He is dressed in a clean uniform, minus the command gold overshirt. He is smiling, just enough to bare a hint of teeth. "Though you should know, it's regarded as _highly inappropriate_ to insist your commanding officer use your given name, considering the nature of your relationship."

Feeling the need to correct Jim — his relationship with Uhura is nothing but professional, after all — Spock opens his mouth, but is interrupted when Uhura slips off the desk, rolling her eyes in such an exaggerated fashion that Spock is honestly surprised they manage to remain in their sockets. "What were you doing, listening at the door? Are you twelve?"

Jim shrugs before dropping gracelessly onto the sofa. "Jury's out. But anytime you want to do a personal assessment..."

His eyes travel over her suggestively and Spock is overwhelmed by a sensation that reminds him vaguely of indigestion, a tangible ache in his midsection that he has not experienced before.

He looks up as Uhura gathers the PADDs off the desk, nodding her departure to Spock. She sweeps past the sofa, tossing over her shoulder: "I'd break you in half, Kirk."

"I'd enjoy it!" he calls after her, smile widening even after the door slides closed behind her. "Damn," he adds, oblivious to the intensely hot pressure that is swelling behind Spock’s eyes, making his vision swim and leaving him feeling oddly top-heavy. "They really couldn't make those uniforms any shorter."

Spock exhales before answering, forcing down the twisting coil of heat in his throat. "I am not qualified to comment on the logic behind Starfleet's uniform designs. You could, however, certainly make an effort to refrain from leering."

Jim blinks before turning to look at him. "Yeah, and she could certainly opt to wear the leggings if she wanted to." He pauses a beat, his eyes roaming over Spock, as if searching for something. "Have you noticed that something like eighty-five percent of the females enlisted _choose_ to wear the skirt despite the fact that whoever designed them didn't feel the need to include rank stripes?"

"I have indeed noticed," Spock informs him; he does not point out the actual figure is eighty-seven point six three percent, "while simultaneously managing to keep my gaze on their faces."

Sitting up, Jim leans forward and balances his elbows upon his knees. Spock can feel his sudden anger from across the room like a shower of ice water, irrationally giving Spock the urge to shiver. "You sort of glazed right over my point there, Commander."

"Which would be?"

"That you've got a lot of nerve trying to paint me as the sexist asshole, here," Jim says. His tone is neutral, but his narrowed eyes betray the offence he has taken. "And pardon me, _sir_ , but exactly what business is it of yours what I think of her, anyway? Because in case you haven't noticed, she doesn't exactly need defending."

"Cadet Uhura is both a member of my crew and one of my most prestigious students. I have every right to intervene if I believe she is being debased in any way — "

" _Debased?_ Are you — of course you're serious," Jim murmurs, eyes glancing towards the ceiling. "For your information, I have nothing but respect for your precious prodigy. She's earned it. I'm just able to appreciate the fact that she's both a linguistic genius _and_ happens to have legs that go all the way up to the stratosphere."

Spock's fingers constrict against the flat surface of the desk; he is distantly aware his teeth are grinding together. "You have a very peculiar way of expressing what you claim is 'respect'. Given her reactions to your advances, it would seem quite clear she does not appreciate being reduced to material aesthetics."

"And you've formed that hypothesis on very little — and from what I'm getting, clearly biased — observation." Jim's lips form a thin, twisted curve, not quite a smirk. "Not very scientific of you."

"I do not require context to — "

"Yeah, you really do," Jim snaps, standing. Spock inhales sharply, and can practically smell the tension flooding the space between them. "And despite what you may think," he continues, voice rising with every word, "it _isn't_ any of your business. But I can assure you that she gives as good as she gets, Commander. And not once, in twenty-eight months, has she ever expressed any indication that she'd like me to stop."

The silence that follows is inexplicably more uncomfortable than the argument that caused it. Spock does not move, simply studies Kirk; standing before the desk with his legs shoulder-width apart, arms lax at his sides, but his fingers have curled in towards his palms, and he is breathing heavily through his mouth.

Spock consciously forces his own fingers to uncurl. "I believe if you were confident in your deductions, you would not feel the need to be so overly defensive."

"Defensive," Jim repeats, scoffing. "Right. Permission to speak freely?"

"Am I to believe you have not been speaking freely this entire time?"

Jim makes that unpleasant smile again, the same one he adopted when he told Spock about Tarsus IV, his tongue flashing across his teeth. "I think maybe you need to take a step back and examine why who I flirt with bothers you more than it bothers them."

Spock narrows his eyes. "That is not — "

"Bullshit it's not. You're a terrible liar, has anyone ever told you that?"

"Vulcans do not _lie_."

"Yeah? Probably because they're crap at it," Jim retorts. He moves away from the desk, stooping to shove a few items into the open duffel on the floor by the sofa.

Kirk is packing his bag with the sort of determination that simultaneously manages to incapacitate any movement and make Spock long to throw something. Instead, Spock watches him silently, resisting the urge to claw at his chest in an effort to relieve the uncomfortable tightness forming there. He feels, irrationally, an instinctual urge to escape — from this situation, this room, from his own _skin_ with such intensity it is causing him to feel mild nausea.

When the cadet finally stands, slinging the bag over his shoulder, Spock opens his mouth but finds himself unable to express a desire he does not understand himself.

"McCoy cleared me for duty tonight, so," Jim says. He shrugs, shifting the bag against his side, looking everywhere except at Spock. "I guess I'll see you on the bridge."

The desire to flee is nearly as strong as the sudden need Spock feels to prevent Jim from leaving — to intercept him before he can make it to the door, block his path, even forcibly restrain him if necessary. It is every bit irrational as it is unsettling. Perhaps there is something he can say, something to diffuse the situation, but he feels the point at which he should express this has passed. The resentment Jim is filled with itches at his psyche, festering inside his mind like an infected wound.

When Spock does not say anything, Jim glances at him — less saturated with anger than unease, as if he is channeling Spock's uncertainty. But whatever he sees when he looks at Spock seems to rekindle his pique. He tightens his grip on the strap of his bag and leaves without another word.

—~—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And on that note, **[I apparently won 1st place](http://loarts-art.tumblr.com/post/83735514937/i-used-this-site-to-choose-my-three-winners-and)** for [loarts](http://loarts-art.tumblr.com/)'s art giveaway??? (I've never won anything in my entire _life!_ ) Obviously I'd love my ST boys, but I can't think of HOW/WHAT/WHY. So feel free to make suggestions (AND I WILL IGNORE EVERY PERSON WHO SCREAMS "PORN", MUSE).


End file.
